


Warning: Expect Side Effects

by mellyb6



Series: And Then There Were Four [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aramis has a dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty mouth, Blowjobs, Christmas, Family, First Everything, First fights, Having Sex, Holidays, M/M, New Boyfriends, Noisy friends, Parents, There's a child somewhere in it and Porthos doesn't quite know how to handle this, They mess around in bed, also they're super cute and cheesy, building relationships, having fun, meeting parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 19:28:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 66,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6437305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellyb6/pseuds/mellyb6
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porthos and Aramis explore their new relationship, discover more about each other, learn to handle life as boyfriends. They're also often ridiculously cheesy. And sexy. </p><p>Sequel to <em>For Bodily Use Only<em>.</em></em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Summer

**Author's Note:**

> *gasps* They're back!! Much sooner than I expected. I couldn't resist. 
> 
> This story is a sequel to _For Bodily Use Only _. You don't necessarily need to have read it to understand this one. But it might prove useful, especially for Aramis' backstory.__

**Porthos**

 

It's early August so of course, most of the regulars who come to Porthos' gym have deserted Paris. There's less work than usual, most of the staff has gone on a break. Porthos has to work longer hours. He doesn't mind too much.

 

Only that it's lonely at night because even though Aramis was around for the first few weeks of the summer, busy writing his dissertation yet nevertheless _there_ , he's now in Spain. It's easy how a few months can make you forget what it was like before a certain person came into your life. One person can take so much space and fill all the holes in your life, patch it perfectly.

 

Porthos is very aware of it now, and he doesn't enjoy the lack of Aramis he has to go through.

 

On the bright side, Athos isn't working much either. He doesn't seem really inspired to do any art lately. There's no question whether to invite Porthos to the seaside with him and Ninon. Porthos hardly hesitates either. A couple of days out of the city will do him good.

 

It's not always crazy hot in Brittany, but there's the ocean and the salted air that Ninon marvels about every time they take the boat out of the harbour. Porthos does approve of the outing, of lounging around on the deck, of taking a bike (or even better a horse) to ride along the coast whenever it's not raining.

 

It's comforting to be with his friends, to fall back into familiar actions and places. It manages to take his mind away from Aramis for a couple of hours. It's never enough, though. He's always checking his phone, looking for new texts or for any calls he might have missed. How could he, Athos often wonders, given that he's never seen his best friend so attached to the device.

 

A couple of days after they've arrived in Britanny they are all resting quietly in the large living room, enjoying some cider because it's pouring outside. Ninon is reading a book, vaguely keeping track of the conversation Athos is trying to have. Porthos is doing the same, but he completely fails at it, too engrossed that he is by his phone.

 

“You're not fun,” Athos declares, sighing dramatically and refilling his glass. The change in tone makes Ninon look up and smile sweetly. Porthos doesn't seem embarassed at all.

 

“He misses Aramis. Let him be.”

 

“It's impossible to have a normal conversation with you. Always with your phone. Given the amount of time you spend on it, I can't see how you could possibly miss him so much.” He stares pointedly at Porthos who at least deigns to look at him and not at his phone anymore.

 

“It's not the same,” Ninon retorts.

 

“Well, you should have asked him to come with us. At least we would all have been in the same room.”

 

“He's in Spain,” Porthos replies dryly. His thoughts are quite similar to Athos'. Nothing would have pleased him better than to spend a long vacation with Aramis. Life had different plans. “He'd already planned and booked everything. I couldn't possibly ask him to cancel it all.”

 

“And he didn't ask you to go with him?”

 

Ninon has only met Aramis once, during the long weekend they spent together in June in Athos' coutry estate. Three days was all the time she needed to decide that she appreciated Aramis. And to witness how beneficial he was for Porthos, how her friend seemed to glow with more happiness and calm than usual. The new boyfriends had been constantly glued together, hardly allowing the rest of the group to stir them away from the other. It had been cute and a refreshing change. Their personalities were so in sync, even if they were trying not to look too smitten with one another.

 

Porthos doesn't answer her question right away. They did talk about it. He would have certainly loved to go with Aramis, to meet his family, but they both agreed that it was too early. Although they have no intention of ditching the other overnight, it had seemed better to them both not to include Porthos in Aramis' family vacation so soon in their relationship.

 

“For now,” Aramis had added. The words still ring in Porthos' ears, full of promises and possibilities. Frankly, he doesn't know what to make of it. It's not clear how he could handle Aramis' son. It's one thing to know there is one, it's a completely different thing to interact with him in person. That aspect of their relationship is scary. A little. He'll overcome it, eventually, Porthos is sure of it, but not yet.

 

Instead of the true story, because Aramis might not want his friends to learn about his child that way, Porthos says:

 

“It's complicated.” Which it is. Ninon raises a puzzled eyebrow but knows better than to press it further. Porthos doesn't look too pained as he says it; it mustn't be that complicated then.

 

Athos also knows not to ask for more. He simply leans towards Porthos on the couch and gives him some more cider.

 

**Aramis**

 

Farther down in the South, Aramis also spends his vacation close to beaches and the sea, except that the weather is definitely better and warmer where he is. He hasn't seen a drop of rain in the week he's been there.

 

Yet, the apartment they stay in with Anne and Mati is way smaller than the massive house rented by Athos. Aramis doesn't care in the slightest. There is plenty to do in southern Spain during summertime. He used to be content lazily going through vacations in the past. It wouldn't matter if he spent hours sleeping inside to avoid the scorching heat or lounging by the swimming pool or on the beach.

 

None of this is remotely possible with a four-year old who always seems hyper. Aramis cannot blame him because they spend so little time together since he's moved to Paris for his studies. He's determined to spend as many waking hours as possible with his boy. It's an ordeal not to spoil him rotten. It's a good thing Anne is around to keep him (them) in check.

 

In a week, they've seen the ocean every day, they've built sandcastles and most of them had to surrender to the waves. They've eaten ice creams and read stories. They've invented a bunch, too. Mati has started to learn how to swim and would only consider his father as a suitable instructor, grabbing his arm with such strength that Aramis now has fingernail marks all over it.

 

They've drawn quite a lot, too, they've watched cartoons in the afternoon when it was too hot to go outside. They've napped, a messy pile of limbs in the cool bedroom, the child refusing to let his parents out of his sight even when he was sleeping.

 

All things considered, it's not as relaxing as what a normal vacation might promise. It's always busy, never a second to breathe except at night once Mati is passed out from exhaustion. Aramis loves it, wouldn't want it any other way.

 

He's nonetheless developed his own new ritual when the boy is safely recovering from another day of fun. Aramis sits by the open double doors leading to the mini balcony, smokes the cigarette he couldn't during the day, and checks his phone for any messages from Porthos. He catches up on the texts that he may have missed, replies to many, starts long conversations with his boyfriend.

 

The topics are always quite the same, what they did during the day, what they have planned for the day after, funny or irritating things they've noticed, people who got on their nerves. Light subjects and yet the fact that they miss each other and wish they could be together is written all over the messages, in everything but actual words.

 

Focused that he is on his screen, he doesn't quite notice Anne coming out of the bedroom she shares with their son and sneaking behind him. There's a glass of wine in her hand as she pulls a chair to be beside Aramis. Then she sits in it, doesn't ask for an invitation before propping her legs up on Aramis' lap. She gives a long sigh as she reclines in her chair and takes a sip of wine. Aramis doesn't seem surprised by it all.

 

Before she got pregnant, they did like one another, only as friends because he would have never considered stealing another man's fiancée. She had studied abroad in France so they had the language in common, and she clearly liked many things that he did, too. Aramis firmly believes that they would have remained friends no matter what, even if she hadn't slept with him and ended up with a child.

 

He knows the love he has for her can startle a lot of people and yet, he feels strangely at ease in their relationship. They're more than friends, but there's never been the hint of a romantic love between them. It's comforting, quite helpful when you have to raise a child together, make important decisions together. He couldn't be more comfortable around her.

 

“What's her name?” Anne asks after a while.

 

“What?”

 

“The one you've been texting all day long and calling for a week when you thought I was too busy not paying attention. What's her name?”

 

It was foolish to think she wouldn't notice. Because she's noticed everything, all the little details, all the changes in his behaviour. She cannot say she knows him by heart, but she does know a fair deal about him, the result of living together for years.

 

Anne smiles a bit to encourage him, nudges him with a bare foot. In the end, Aramis has to surrender and confess. He first checks that they're truly alone and that there's not a noise coming from the bedroom.

 

“His. His name's Porthos,” he clarifies once he sees Anne frown. The admission pleases her a lot, makes her suddenly way more interested than she was a second before.

 

“Is that so?”

 

“Yes. We've been going out since...April. He's great, he's fantastic, he's....what?” He stops when he notices how Anne is grinning at him. She shakes her head, drinks some wine.

 

“Nothing. Go on.”

 

“Anyway, we really get along, that's all.”

 

“Show me,” she commands, almost pokes him in the face with her hand, fingers extended until Aramis finds a good picture and gives her the phone. Anne nods her approval, still smiling widely. Aramis is, too, by now.

 

They may have decided it was too early for them to meet members of their families, Aramis has to admit that somewhere in the back of his mind, it's always been incredibly important that Anne approved of his choice of boyfriend (or girlfriend).

 

“Nice,” she decides. Aramis finds the choice of adjective a bit undermining because Porthos is so much more, but it will do. “You did look happier,” she adds. “Which is good. I know it's not easy for you, being away in Paris so I'm glad you've found someone.”

 

She sounds genuinely happy, perhaps a little relieved to not have totally ruined his possible romantic life. Aramis is smiling, too, as she leans forward to give him a tight hug and a quick kiss on the forehead. The damp and long blond hair braided on her shoulder grazes his cheek, tickles him.

 

“What about you?” he asks after she's let him go. At first, Anne simply shrugs.

 

“I'm too busy to think about this. It's all right,” she assures him before Aramis can open his mouth and tell her that she should think about herself from time to time. He gives up because she doesn't look at all sadened by the confession so it's a small comfort.

 

It's Aramis' turn to lean toward her and hug her back.

 

“Does he know?” She cocks her head behind her, at the dark living room, the closed bedroom door and the dim light they can see coming through underneath it.

 

“Yes. I couldn't possibly keep seeing him without telling him about you two. It wouldn't have been fair. He said it wasn't a problem.”

 

“Keep him then.”

 

“I'm planning to.”

 

Aramis returns her radiant smile, lights up another cigarette, ignores her scowl.

 

**Aramis and Porthos**

 

The travel back may have been even more tiring than the three weeks Aramis spent with his family. He loves them all, but a bit of peace and quiet will certainly do him good. Except that as soon as he stepped out into of the airport, he's been assaulted by all that raucous, all the cars, all the polluted air and honestly, those were things he hadn't missed while enjoying himself in the Spanish countryside.

 

It's late in the afternoon when he gets home in time to have a shower and change his clothes. He's exhausted by it all and yet excited because the plan is to meet Porthos at his place and to spend the evening catching up. Aramis cannot wait; it's been too long and he has to keep himself in check so he doesn't hop up and down in front of Porthos' door.

 

Then it's open and everything falls back into place the moment he finds himself face to face with his boyfriend. He knew he'd missed him, he couldn't have imagined he had missed him _that much._ It should sound ridiculous. Instead, it's only right for his heart and mind to feel at peace once again.

 

Aramis decides to ignore the emotion for the time being. He prefers to relish in the strong arms hugging him.

 

Porthos is making an actual effort to not hug the life out of him but God, he missed him so much. He's missed the sunny face, the bright smile, the sparkly eyes (albeit tired right now), the thick black curls in which he can bury his fingers.

 

He's missed the soft skin of Aramis' lips, how full and welcoming they are as they kiss, way slower than Porthos would have expected. He's been on edge the entire day, wishing time would go faster.

 

The words are on the tip of his tongue while it's being re-acquainted with the warm inside of Aramis' mouth. They're burning him from the inside out, aching to be said but Porthos resists the urge. _I've missed you._

 

“You got a tan,” he greets him instead. Porthos looks him up and down before he gazes at Aramis, brushes wild curls away from his eyes.

 

“I did.” Aramis leans into his touch, fights the desire to close his eye and gives in to this feeling of plenitude.

 

“Did you have a good time?”

 

“Absolutely. I'm glad to be back, though.”

 

Aramis gives him another kiss, sinks against Porthos until he's clinging on his neck. The door is still open.

 

Porthos' chest strains to have Aramis here, in his apartment, in his arms, hardly any space left between them. Aramis is here and he can touch him again. He's not only a voice on a phone anymore.

 

“I'm glad you're back, too.”

 

“Are you cooking?” Aramis inquires because it smells like someone is. It would be such a change from Porthos' usual lack of any culinary skills, or so he claims. Aramis is quite adamant that he will be able to change this one day.

 

“I'm trying.”

 

“I'm sure it'll be delicious,” Aramis states, his lips so close to Porthos' they're brushing. There's no mistaking that his words carry further meaning than just an interest in food. Porthos finds himself clutching his boyfriend' waist more vigorously.

 

Only dinner isn't ready yet, which isn't a problem as far as Aramis is concerned. Porthos sits him down on the couch, tells him to get comfortable. He does just so, lies down and waits until Porthos joins him, makes him scoot over so he can cuddle Aramis who sighs out against his shoulder.

 

“How was the flight back?” Porthos asks to say something. He's petting Aramis' hair, falling back into small gestures which had become regular between them. Aramis groans. “That bad?”

 

“It's like everybody decided to yell or cry. And I'm not just talking about kids. It was _awful_. I'm much better now.”

 

“I bet.” Porthos grins, lets one hand fall on the small of Aramis' back and rub the skin there. It's a soothing motion.

 

“I've got you something.”

 

“Did you now?”

 

“Yep. So you can think of me whenever you're at work.”

 

It's a stretch for Aramis but he manages to reach his jacket and to take out the ridiculous figurine he bought on the beach.

 

“You can put it on your desk and it'll make you laugh if you're doing complicated paperwork or boring stuff.”

 

Porthos snorts and yet he cannot help but adore a gift that he would consider stupid in any other circumstances. The simple fact that Aramis went to this trouble and brought him something back makes him emotional over such a small present.

 

“Awww. Did you miss me that much?” Aramis jokes when he sees Porthos' face, how his eyes seem to fill with uncontrolled tears. It's unlike him, always so strong, so in control of everything. Truth be told, Aramis is rather proud to have achieved such a result.

 

Porthos attempts to get his feelings under control. He's a grown man and he won't lose it over that. No matter how esctatic it makes him. He shrugs, smiles at Aramis.

 

“A little.” _A lot._

 

Porthos cannot remember the last time he's felt like that and it's a foreign feeling for him. He hardly knows how to react, how to act from now on, how to not be too obvious. It's doubtful Aramis would mind a bigger display of affection. Still.

 

Looking at Aramis and how his face lights up, how his eyes smile and tell Porthos all he needs to know, it makes him better. Every breath that Aramis takes, every word that he says, it settles his confused mind.

 

The food turns out to be rather edible. The pasta is tasty and even if the meat ended up a bit burned, it's quite good. Besides, Aramis blames himself for this because if he hadn't been distracting Porthos with kisses, the entire meal may have been exceptional. Which it already is, anyway, he still assures him.

 

Porthos believes him, considering that Aramis completely finishes his food, doesn't leave one scrap in his plate. However, he doesn't appear to have more strength left for anything else. The dishes are in the sink abandoned for the night and Porthos holds Aramis close on the couch, sitting with the other's head almost on his lap. From this position, it's easy to see how much Aramis is fighting to keep his eyes open, to stifle his yawns and keep the discussion going.

“Time for bed, I guess,” Porthos decides. He would be perfectly content to spend the rest of the evening in the living room, petting Aramis' hair and telling him about his own summer. It would most certainly lull Aramis to sleep but they can still do all of this in bed.

 

Aramis mistakes Porthos' intention as he straightens up and goes for a kiss. It's a wonder Porthos can refrain himself at all. Too many days and nights apart.

 

“Hold that thought for tomorrow, will you?”

 

Aramis frowns, his hands still firmly holding on to Porthos' shoulders now that he had started to turn around on his lap. Then he blinks, yawns.

 

“Sorry. I'll get going, then.”

 

“To where?”

 

“Home, of course,” Aramis replies, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. He's a bit disappointed, sure, but the plan had only been dinner. Before he can even attempt to stand up, Porthos' hands are on his hips, stopping him, keeping him close.

 

“I meant, let's both go to bed, _here_. You're exhausted and you're not going anywhere. Beds aren't only for fooling around, you know.”

 

“I know.” Aramis blushes because he's indeed so tired and his brain isn't working properly anymore. But truth be told, they haven't spent many nights together only sleeping. There was always sex before. And often after.

 

Porthos kisses the blush away and half drags him to the bedroom. Aramis is compliant, clutching Porthos' fingers tightly. Yet, he doesn't settle for anything less than a few kisses as soon as he's safe in Porthos' arms, his head resting on the other's naked shoulder. Legs intertwined, hot fingers rubbing Aramis' shoulder, his bare back.

 

Aramis does indeed sleep like a baby that night, never distracted by someone pulling on his arm because they had a nightmare and want to crawl in bed with him. He has the only person who matters right now serving as the best pillow and body-warmer he could possibly ask for.

 

It's the end of August and the weather has started to cool down. Yet, Porthos feels so hot, in a good way. It's what wakes Aramis in the middle of the night. There are no shutters on Porthos' windows and light is slowly coming in the bedroom. The sky is turning all sorts of pink and orange above the buildings.

 

For long minutes, Aramis is transfixed by Porthos' slack face while he sleeps. His chest rises under Aramis' hand splayed on it. He finds everything so adorable and really, he would have never believed a few months ago that he would associate this particular adjective with Porthos. It's what it is, though. A giant of a man who turns so soft whenever he sees Aramis. And Aramis likes it. A lot. He's missed it. He's even missed the tiny snores Porthos sometimes makes.

 

It would be a blasphemy to wake him up right now. Aramis dozes off for a couple more hours and when he opens his eyes again, there's bright sunshine in the room. He stretches under the sheets, tries not to groan too loud at his aching muscles. Porthos has turned away from him, his face almost hidden under a pillow, one arm hanging on from the side of the bed.

 

That's where Porthos intended to stay for a long time. Safely blocking the sun and preventing it from hitting him straight in the face. He's fine with it warming his bare back since somehow, all the sheets have gathered at his feet.

 

Unfortunately, he cannot ignore the noises coming from somewhere in his apartment. Definitely not from within his bedroom. Glasses clinking, plates and steel, the fridge opening and then closing, a cupboard door banging too loudly and then Aramis telling it to hush.

 

This in particular makes Porthos laugh out loud, no longer mad to have been woken up.

 

“Hey,” he greets Aramis once he's made his way to the kitchen. He leans against the doorframe, rubs his eyes. Aramis stops dead in his tracks, orange juice in one hand and a glass in the other.

 

Porthos sounds sleepy, only wearing the underwear he slept in. It makes Aramis freeze and consider a completely different kind of breakfast.

 

“Did I wake you up?”

 

“The cupboard door did.” Aramis still cringes, puts everything he's holding on the messy table and then scampers toward Porthos who is now awake enough to notice the thin tan line on Aramis' waist, peeking out from under his boxers.

 

“It's the best morning I've had in weeks. You in my kitchen, hardly wearing any clothes.”

 

“I aim to please,” Aramis jokes, but it's only a whisper against Porthos' welcoming lips.

 

Almost at once, Porthos buries his fingers in Aramis' hair, pulls him in closer until they are flushed together, his back to the wall. There's nothing sweet in that kiss, they're fighting to get in control of it all, there's too much teeth and not enough tongue.

 

Nevertheless, there's enough skin grazing and nails racking shoulders, chests, necks. Hot lips are on Porthos' neck, sucking furiously. His hands are firm on Aramis' hips, gliding down to his ass, keeping him in place, keeping him close, making him moan.

 

“That's what I had in mind last night,” Aramis gasps out, his tongue licking the hot skin that Porthos offers. He can hardly move, and has no desire to as soon as Porthos' fingers dip inside his underwear and push him forward, make him grind against the obvious erection Porthos is getting.

 

He was so turned on the night before as well, seeing Aramis in the flesh after long weeks apart. He knew it wouldn't take much to be hard again, especially after such a wonderful display right after waking up.

 

“I'm not complaining.”

 

Aramis' boxers pool at his feet, leaving him completely naked in the middle of the kitchen. Porthos resumes clutching, grabbing all the skin he can, soft and tingly and Aramis hums against his parted lips, devours them with a hunger he can finally unleash. But it doesn't seem enough, it could never be enough.

 

He cups Porthos' face, stares at him, never blinking, dark eyes and ragged breath. Porthos will likely leave bruises on his waist, he's holding him so tight. Aramis couldn't like it more.

 

“Breakfast in bed?” Porthos suggests, giving his boyfriend one long meaningful look which makes Aramis' breath hitch. Porthos can feel him shiver in his arms until Aramis grabs the hand on his ass and leads them both back to the bedroom.

 

“As long as _you_ 're my breakfast,” Aramis teases, straddling Porthos after he's sprung on the bed, underwear off in one swift move and his cock ready to be taken over by Aramis. “You _did_ miss me.”

 

How he is capable of joking around is a mystery to Porthos. He's being suffocated by his burning desire, doesn't know what to do with his hands because he wants them everywhere at once.

 

Aramis' body is heavy on him, the best pressure imaginable, grinding down, stopping any other joke and filling the silence with loud groans. Aramis' tongue sets him on fire, makes Porthos arch his back because he'd forgotten what it felt like to have it lick his chest, his nipples, how perfect his lips feel on his skin whenever he bites down on a nipple, soothes the sting thoroughly.

 

“You're killing me,” Porthos eventually manages to gasp out.

 

His cock is straining under the pressure of Aramis' strokes, an extremely likable sensation and yet not quite enough. Aramis is being too careful, taking his time, letting his hand feel the smooth skin, the wet tip. He doesn't mind how Porthos' hips jerk forward to get more. He certainly loves how Porthos has to throw his head back every time his thumb will brush his cockhead. A slow torture, cleverly designed so Porthos will lose himself to his own pleasure.

 

“Then do something about it,” Aramis taunts, hot breath against Porthos' ear, one hand still on his cock and fingers often gliding down to fondle his balls. It's an ordeal to not close his eyes. Porthos breathes out loudly, rolls them around so that Aramis is on his back.

 

He hasn't relinquished his hold on Porthos, though, and indeed adds more intensity to his strokes, all the while spreading his legs, a wicked grin on his face. Porthos shuts him up before he can say anything. Their lips crash together, greedy tongues licking around one another. Aramis swallows most of Porthos' little hisses.

 

He's so close, pushes against Aramis' hand. Aramis hasn't shaved in days and yet, he feels Porthos' beard against his own cheek, loves how it rubs and tickles. Porthos' voice is wonderfuly sexy when he speaks, a low rumble which makes Aramis shiver.

 

“That enough?”

 

Aramis' cock is standing at attention, waiting for nothing less than a firm hold on it. Porthos gives it exactly that, feels it twitch under his fingers. He resumes kissing Aramis, then quickly abandons his cock for his balls and Aramis' own ministrations on Porthos freeze for a second.

 

He's overwhelmed by all of it, moans endlessly around Porthos' tongue in his mouth, stops trying to fight him and lets him take control of the entire situation. Which he does, one thumb pressing against Aramis' hole. Not a surprise, a pleasing shock nevertheless.

 

Aramis opens his eyes and swallows thickly, has to end their kiss to shout out. He gasps out, clutches the sheets with his free hand, bites down on his lip. Porthos' fingers inside of him have never felt so good and the way they move, the way they send sparks of infite pleasure all throughout his body, Aramis falls apart because of it. Because of everything.

 

He bends his leg, allows Porthos deeper inside of him, feels fingers curl and when he manages to focus on Porthos' face, it's to find him staring straight at him, the hungriest look in his eyes.

 

It doesn't take him more to come, all over his stomach, body shuddering because of Porthos, thanks to him. His hand is still solid on Porthos' cock, barely moving; Aramis can hardly do anything but let his orgasm take over his mind and actions. Turns out, it's all that Porthos needs to come, as well. Seeing the blessed look on Aramis, knowing he is responsible for it.

 

Porthos feels exhausted despite only waking up moments earlier. He's blissfully sweaty, dirty, but Aramis is here, not letting him go anywhere, smiling lazily up at him, recovering, breathing out loudly. Porthos brushes one lone curl away from the other's forehead, kisses him quickly and collapses by his side.

 

“Good morning?”

 

“Good morning, indeed,” Porthos agrees.

 

“I do make the best breakfasts.” Aramis is grinning at him. Porthos growls, gathers him in his arms once more, silences the surprised squeak.

 

 


	2. Fall (Part One)

**September**

 

Then it's September and life starts again in Paris. It had slowed down for two entire months, school being out and people fleeing to warmer and less crowded urban places. Everything and everyone is back now. Schedules are on everyone's mind, Porthos' classes fill in, Aramis goes back to fencing practice, goes back to training the children. They have less time to see each other.

 

But they still make time to get some coffee and catch a couple of movies. Athos gives them tickets to the opening night at the Opera, courtesy of his parents and Aramis decides that he loves it. Not solely because of the incredible singing and wonderful dancing. The sight of Porthos in a tuxedo (because what else would you wear for such an evening) literally takes his breath away.

 

Porthos also goes with Aramis to a couple of museums he hasn't visited in years. He cannot stand all the tourists there. The companionship is better with his boyfriend and these trips are rather compulsory for Aramis as a final research for his dissertation. Having a clear goal helps make it all more interesting. He's looking for specific paintings, specific weapons to use as examples. Porthos enjoys it, despite the crowd.

 

What he likes even more is when Aramis asks him to come with him to pick an outfit for his dissertation defense. It won't be happening for a couple of months but Aramis is anxious to be perfect, to at least have this aspect of it under control.

 

Besides, going shopping with Porthos is nice, the gigantic indoor mall being a little less packed on a morning than usual. So they take their time, stroll and Porthos is rather absorbed in the show that Aramis gives him, trying on more clothes than is necessary. Everything looks ravishing on him. In the end, Porthos cannot see how he could be helpful in choosing what to buy.

 

“And perhaps a haircut would do me some good,” Aramis ponders, examining his figure in the mirror.

 

Porthos growls at this, without meaning to. It's a low sound but Aramis hears it anyway, even from behind the closed door in the changing room. He pokes his head out.

 

“Was that you?”

 

Porthos is sitting on a long bench, piles of clothes on either side that the shop attendant keeps on trying to take away. Aramis won't let her. He doesn't know what he may want to try again.

 

“Yes, sorry. I didn't like that idea very much.”

 

Aramis smiles brightly at the confession. He's not too keen on touching his hair either.

 

“Well, Constance remarked that it was starting to look messy and not quite professional. I guess it'll always grow back, won't it?”

 

“As long as it does. I like your hair.”

 

It's such a cute admission that Aramis has to step forward, pants half open, shirt hanging loose and barefoot. He gives Porthos a quick kiss, lets him touch his hair because he simply loves how Porthos' fingers caress his skin and make him feel tingly and warm all over.

 

“And I like the bandana you had on when I came to the gym earlier. You should wear it more often. It makes you look like a pirate. I've never made out with a pirate before.”

 

After a long hour of modeling, posing only for the sake of hearing Porthos laugh, Aramis finally manages to find a complete outfit. Neither of them is in a hurry to go their separate way so they grab lunch. The gym isn't on the route to Aramis' campus and library but he makes the detour nevertheless, more enthusiastic about spending a couple more minutes with Porthos than with books and his laptop, not for his work anyway.

 

It's a Friday and Friday nights are Mati Nights (long hours on the computer, a video call and dinner in front of his screen) so they won't see each other later in the day.

 

“Thanks for doing this with me,” Aramis says once they're inside the gym and he'll have to relinquish Porthos so he can go and make a living. He's holding on to his hand rather forcefully for the time being, though.

 

“No problem. I hope when they've served their purpose I'll get to take them off you,” Porthos whispers, one arm around Aramis' waist, pulling him against him.

 

“Absolutely.” Aramis couldn't sound more impatient. For once, he wishes his dissertation defense could already be done with.

 

Any other thing he wanted to say is silenced by Porthos' warm lips on his mouth. Aramis freezes for a second because it's the first time they've kissed in public at Porthos' work, where everybody could see them. The truth is, Porthos doesn't care about who gets to be a witness of his affection.

 

Aramis' cheeks are flushed when they part. He's dropped his shopping bag.

 

“Have fun tonight.”

 

“Say hi to Charon and Flea for me.”

 

“I will,” Porthos promises, watches Aramis leave then turn around and wave quickly on his way out.

 

They have a tradition of going out for brunch at least once a month. Porthos cannot clearly recall who institutionalized it but it must be Flea. Who else could have thought of waking up, skipping breakfast and then indulging on cocktails in the middle of the day? Not that the men are complaining. It's a good chance to catch up and the food is always amazing.

 

Flea does most of the conversation though, asks a billion questions.

 

“There was this very cute dog at work the other day. Came from the pound. Some people had just found it and it had a very severe ear infection. Most precious thing in the world. Here, look.” She finds her phone then hands it to Porthos once she's found a picture. “I would have _loved_ to take it home.”

 

“Why didn't you?”

 

“We'd be running our own shelter if we had to take in all the animals she wanted,” Charon cuts in. “Why don't _you_ take it?”

 

“Because I live in an apartment and it wouldn't be happy there.”

 

“My point exactly.”

Flea pouts, busies herself with her salmon for a while.

 

“How's Aramis? It's been forever since we've last seen him.”

 

“He's good. Busy.”

 

“Where is he?” Flea inquires, inquisitive eyes on Porthos as if he was hiding something. Which he isn't.

 

“He's gone away with the children on a fencing competition for the weekend.”

 

Honestly, Porthos isn't pleased with it. It's another weekend they cannot spend together. Any free time he spends away from Aramis is wasted time, as far as Porthos is concerned. But he doesn't really want to investigate these feelings with Flea right now so he focuses on his plate and almost spits out his orange juice on Charon at her next question.

 

“Bummer. When are you moving in together?”

 

After he's done cleaning the table and choking on his drink, Porthos stares at her, bewildered.

 

“Sorry, what?”

 

“Well, you're obviously not happy that he is away and it's plain that you like each other very much. So why not?”

 

“I think you and I are a rare exception, honey,” Charon explains. He nonetheless finds Porthos' shocked and confused face to be hilarious. “Not everybody can live together and make it work so greatly so quickly.”

 

Flea and Charon moved in together as soon as they got enough money to rent a proper apartment and they didn't have to live on campus in tiny rooms anymore. Besides, they've known each other forever, have basically grown up together, along with Porthos. They know the other by heart. They had basically been living together even before moving in together. There was no question whether their couple would survive the transition.

 

“Exactly,” Porthos adds to it, pointing at Charon with his fork. “Where's the rush when it could ruin everything?”

 

“I'm just saying. You looked like you might enjoy it.”

 

Instead of answering, Porthos only stares at her, hard. Her tone is casual but there's truth to it and he isn't ready to handle what it means.

 

“And why are you so interested in my relationship all of a sudden?”

 

“Because for once you have one which is worth talking about,” Flea replies, all bright smile and innocent eyes that Porthos doesn't trust for a second.

 

“What about yours, then? You two have been together for what? Almost 15 years? When are you getting married?”

 

He's proud to shut her up. Flea is speechless and can't think of a clever come-back. Charon and her have always agreed that a marriage would only destroy them and that anyway, they were already married, in every sense possible expect the legal one. It's Porthos' turn to smirk.

 

“My point exactly.”

* * *

**October**

 

October brings bad weather, a lot of rain and wind and it dampens Aramis' spirits. The sun and warmth haven't been gone for more than a couple of days that he solemnly declares that he misses it terribly and wishes winter was over already. The way he pouts in front of the windows makes Porthos want to squash him in a big hug and fill his heart with all the sunshine he can gather.

 

Especially on that particular night. Aramis had a meeting with his professor during the day. From what Porthos understood, it didn't go well at all. There are some pages to rewrite and Aramis is depressed. It's cold, he's drenched whenever he steps outside and his work is worthless. He can't write, he doesn't know anything about the subject he chose. Everything is doomed.

 

But, he doesn't say all that out loud. He's complained once so it wouldn't do to ruin the evening by going over it again. And Porthos looks peaceful, quietly reading by his side, lying in bed.

 

As engrossed as he is in his magazine, Porthos does hear the loud sigh coming from his boyfriend. Looking down, he finds him fidgeting under the duvet. Aramis is thinking so hard that Porthos can easily guess what is going through his mind. He puts one warm hand on Aramis' shoulder.

 

“It's only a small setback, Aramis. It's not like the entire thing has to be rewritten, is it? A few extra hours and it'll be better. I trust that you'll do an awesome job with it. But _not_ tonight. Let it be, stop thinking about it.”

 

His voice is soft, reassuring. It does calm Aramis a little. The silence doesn't fit him.

 

“Will you read to me?” he asks. It's almost a plead, and when he looks at Porthos with such beautiful and honest eyes, his boyfriend can refuse him nothing.

 

“It's only a dumb article. I'll get a proper...”

 

“No, that's fine. It's still your voice and that's what I wants.” To prevent Porthos from moving, Aramis cuddles closer, draps his arm over Porthos' stomach, drops his head on his chest. Smooth fingers are playing with his hair and when Aramis next sighs, it doesn't convey anything but contentment.

 

He falls asleep before Porthos reaches the end of the first page. Porthos still keeps on reading out loud, too afraid that Aramis will wake up if it's quiet too suddenly. Even in his sleep, he looks troubled. He's frowning and his fingers clutch Porthos' tee-shirt quite forcefully before he eventually relaxes. Porthos' hand falls to the small of his back, rubs the skin there.

 

They may not live together, and they haven't even discussed it. Not once has there been the shadow of such an eventuality occurring anytime soon. And yet, they are spending more and more nights simply hanging out. All these little changes, comfort and ease, Porthos revels in them. He's growing less self-conscious about suggesting things because Aramis is always up for anything. His excitement is the same as Porthos' and when he cannot make it, Aramis always has very valid excuses. Much to Porthos' delight, Aramis does make up for these rain checks rather remarkbly.

 

The next time Aramis is in Porthos' bedroom, he's feeling much better. He's lounging on the bed, half his clothes still on the floor, waiting for his turn in the shower. They're going to the art gallery with Athos and their friends later in the evening. After months, Porthos' best friend has finally decided to show all the art he's done in the last year. Since most of it includes Aramis, everybody that he knows is pretty excited.

 

“What are you going to wear?” Aramis calls out, eyes half-closed. Porthos may have wanted to wear the same shirt he had on earlier. After how he was attacked by his boyfriend it is now impossible. Aramis doesn't feel guilty at all.

 

“I don't know.”

 

“Can I pick something for you?” The renewed interest in his voice makes Porthos laugh in front of the mirror, shake his head and smile.

 

“Knock yourself out.”

 

“Sweet!”

 

The closet is small, but it manages to hold more clothes than Aramis could imagine. Stacks of tee-shirts and undershirts, rows of jeans and pants and to be honest, Aramis is a bit jealous for a few seconds. Then he finds worn out pants in the back and he forgets his current task.

 

“Hmmm, Porthos?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I though your _father_ was in the army.”

 

He holds out the faded fatigues out to Porthos who steps out the bathroom. His hair is damp and the work-out they've done for the past hours has made his muscles pop out on his stomach. It's an invitation for Aramis to lick them so he has to breathe out a couple of times to control himself.

 

“A buddy of his was the director of a summer camp. A sort of army camp for boys who may be interested in joining the military. I went there for a couple of summers. Those are great for hiking so I kept them.”

 

“They still fit you after all this time? Now I'm really jealous.” Porthos is smirking at him, flexing his arms on purpose. “But in the end, you didn't join, did you?”

 

“I thought about it. I'd just been adopted and after I got comfortable in my new life, I adored everything that involved my dad's job. But if I had enlisted, I would have had to go far away. After just having found stability, it didn't appeal to me. Besides, you know that if you join after college, you get to be an officer right away and not a simple soldier. Only that when this time came, I'd found another calling.”

 

“Well, I think you should still wear them some day. You know, so I can see how good you look in them.”

 

Aramis's tone is casual but playful and Porthos is definitely glad they have an important event to go to later or he would have his way with Aramis right now. Again. Instead, he pushes him down on the bed, covers him entirely and kisses him hard, stifles the surprised squeal Aramis gives, arms wrapping around Porthos' neck nonetheless.

It takes some time for them to get dressed and ready. When they arrive at the art gallery, it's already full of people, warm and colourful. The first person Aramis spots is Ninon because how could he not? She looks stunning in her evening dress.

 

“They do look like boyfriend and girlfriend to me,” he says to Porthos. Athos is standing by her side and every time Ninon laughs, she puts her hand on his arm. Small yet intimate gestures he doesn't chide from. Porthos nods.

 

“Well, yeah, it's going well so far but actually, back in June, it was the first time I'd seen her in about six months.”

 

“That's because I was in England, don't you remember?” Ninon interrupts him, a large smile on her face. Her earrings sparkle in the light as she reaches forward to hug them both. “A visiting professor in Oxford.”

 

She kisses his cheek, does the same with Aramis. He can't decide if the wonderful smell surrounding her comes from her fragrance or the drink in her hand. Either way, he likes it very much and wants to get his hands on some of those cocktails.

 

Porthos should apologize but he doesn't, he knows she doesn't mind. To gain some countenance, though, he starts to gaze around the large room. From where they are standing, it's difficult to make out which photographs represent Aramis and he's dying to get closer. Especially after Ninon praises him.

 

“Wonderful contribution, Aramis. I've hardly seen Athos more proud of what he's accomplished.”

 

Then she glides off, leaving Aramis blushing a little until he can hide his face in a flute of champagne. Athos has disappeared in the crowd but he does spot Constance so they go this way. D'Artagnan and her are in front of what appears to be a collage of different photographs, most of them of Aramis. It takes Porthos' breath away. All the colours and the black and white.

 

“You look dazzling, Constance,” Aramis compliments her. He's hardly ever seen her in a gown, even though she is constantly surrounded by them in her job. She does look completely at ease, so used that she is to glamour and luxury. She beams at him. So does d'Artagnan.

 

“I borrowed it from last season's collection,” she whispers. “Don't tell anyone.”

 

“I promise,” Aramis swears.

 

“That's quite some art,” d'Artagnan comments. Porthos merely nods, his eyes fixed on the pictures. “I wouldn't have taken you for a model and some of it is rather....disturbing,” he motions behind him, to the part of the gallery Aramis and Porthos haven't seen yet. “....but I've got to hand it to you. I personally wouldn't have done it.”

 

Aramis has to admit that, yes, it is indeed a bit peculiar to see himself in all this art, on the drawings, paintings, photographs. He can understand why Athos is proud of it all, why he took so long to show it to the world. Having all the guests looking at his body, if only on canvas and glossy paper, it makes Aramis more shy than he usually is.

 

After he's been paid many compliments, Aramis does feel more relaxed. He's still embarassed to have Porthos look at him like this in public.

 

It's raining when they leave the art gallery, hours later, a bit drunk and overstuffed on the petit fours. They hurry off to Porthos' apartment because all of Aramis' school stuff is there anyway. Porthos is oddly quiet on the way. He's been amicable during the evening, speaking when asked stuff, but mainly examining the art. Aramis starts to know him and he definitely noticed how the other's eyes never once relaxed, how he often gritted his teeth yet smiled tightly whenever someone would congratulate Athos or Aramis.

 

“What's wrong?” Aramis has to ask in the elevator. Porthos hasn't said a word in the taxi.

 

At first, Porthos considers not telling him because it's stupid and it will pass. He also has the excuse of looking for his house key and then opening the front door to not say anything. However, he's also aware that it will eat him alive if he keeps quiet. He'll never get past it and it would destroy everything.

 

“Some of these pictures were quite audacious,” he ventures. He throws his keys on the table, refrains from pacing in the living room.

 

“Yes. I guess that was the concept but there were flowers to soften it all. To make an even stronger contrast. And did you see the one on which he drew a kitten? I wish it had really been there when he drew me!”

 

“Yeah, I saw it.”

 

The tone is cold and Porthos closes on himself, something that Aramis has never seen before. Something that he decides he doesn't like at all.

 

“You didn't like it, did you?”

 

“No.” The admission is blunt and Porthos is not ashamed to say it.

 

“It's art. You don't have to like it all, even if your best friend is the artist. I'm sure Athos won't hold a grudge.”

 

“You know it's not that.”

 

“What's the problem, then? Because let's be honest, you've seen me naked plenty of times and you've seen far more of my body than what was on the walls back there.”

 

Porthos has to scoff at that.

 

“You and I mustn't have been to the same exhibition. I didn't like everybody ogling you,” he admits after a while. It's hard to say.

 

“They were looking at the paintings and the drawings! And I wasn't the only model involved.”

 

“You're the only who matters to me. Don't tell me you didn't notice that guy who kept checking you out!”

 

“What guy?” Despite wanting to make sense of th situation and of Porthos' sudden discomfort and anger, Aramis cannot help but raise his voice as well.

 

“The one who followed Athos around like a lost puppy.”

“He's an art critic, Porthos!” Aramis exclaims, throws his hands in the air and plops down in the couch. “He was asking questions, not _checking me out_ like you say!”

 

“Oh, please, he totally was! And you kept on encouraging him!”

 

Aramis all but springs back to his feet, rather upset by what Porthos has just said. Whatever calm he may have been trying to maintain, it's all gone now. He's standing away from Porthos, the couch between them, fists balled at his sides. Porthos' eyes are so dark, so narrow.

 

“I was _not_! I was talking! Are you saying that talking to another man amounts to flirting? Because if that's what you think, then I think we have a problem.”

 

He doesn't realize what he just said until it's out in the open. It hangs in the heavy atmosphere.

 

“I didn't say you were flirting.” It's Aramis' turn to scoff. “You were smiling at him, laughing everytime he would say something and...”

 

“Because it happened to be funny and in case you haven't noticed, I tend to smile a lot when I'm happy. Which I was. Being there with you and all of my friends, showing what we've done, what allowed us to meet. Porthos, I was not, I am not interested in that guy. I don't even know his name!”

 

Porthos is still seething, the anger he had to conceal while at the gallery now in the open and saying it out loud does make it sound a bit ridiculous. He won't budge, though. Only his shoulders drop slightly. In the long silence which follows, Aramis takes deep breaths until his mind is clear enough to make some sense of the crazy situation.

 

This is a new side to Porthos' personality that he's discovering and even though it doesn't please him totally, someone has to take the first step. So Aramis does.

 

He gets round the couch to stand close to Porthos. He forces his actions to be slow and gentle as he undoes the tie that he picked for his boyfriend hours beforehand. Then he strokes Porthos' chest, feels his heart beat in his chest which rises with ragged breaths.

 

“I'm sorry I made you feel this way, Porthos. I'm with you, I'm very good being with you and I don't want anybody else. You must know that. I didn't want to make you jealous.”

 

“I'm not,” Porthos starts but he stops. He's beginning to recognize the emotion which has been taking control of his guts for what it truly is. He's never felt it before, and all of a sudden, his heart clenches with warmth and uncertainty. His anger is still there, hanging on the edges. Aramis leans up and kisses his cheek.

 

“I _was_ jealous. I'm the one who should apologize, Aramis. Sorry I just...I didn't like the photographs because of what Athos did. I think I would have liked them if it had been someone else on them. But it's you and....I thought I'd be more looking forward to sharing you with the cultural scene. Turns out I'm not.”

 

“Look at it this way, they will only have a small part of me, retouched and cold. You have the exclusivity of the real thing and I've got to admit that even though you scared me a bit there, it _is_ nice to see you react like this.” Porthos cocks his head, raises an eyebrow at the smile on Aramis' face. “You care about me. You're protective or possessive, depending on how you want to see it, and either way I've never had anyone react like this. I like it.”

 

The tension is slowly seeping away, but now that he considers it, Porthos feels really awful. It's not like him to react so harshly or on impulse. He knows better. What Aramis said is true, though: he does care about him. A lot. Much more than he's done with someone else. It's scary and exhilirating at the same time. Except when it brings about such uncontrollable feelings.

 

Aramis' lips are easing him back into a comfortable position, although Porthos isn't sure he quite deserves that attention tonight.

 

“Come on,” Aramis decides, taking him by the hand. “I'll give you a private show. For your eyes only.”

 

Porthos' soggy jacket hits the floor of his bedroom as soon as Aramis sits him down on the bed. Shoes follow. Aramis unbuttons his shirt but doesn't take it off, lets it hang loose, open wide enough to reveal his naked chest. Without a word, he straddles Porthos' lap, puts Porthos' hands on him, makes him touch what he has to offer.

 

“That's nobody's but yours,” Aramis whispers, his tongue licking Porthos' jaw, his ear, going down his neck, peppering him with kisses, all the while pushing forward on his lap, unbuttoning his shirt so he can kiss Porthos' shoulders, nip at the delicious skin.

 

In spite of all the wonderful things Aramis does to his body, Porthos still isn't sure he deserves it, he deserves him. His hands are flat on Aramis' back, rubbing, nails racking a little, making the other moan. Then his shirt joins the shoes on the floor and Aramis is half naked in his arms.

 

Half naked on top of him once he's pushed him down entirely so Porthos is lying on the bed. His hands are on Aramis' hips, forcing him to grind down, to create some friction and make Porthos forget that he's been a idiot, at least for a few minutes.

 

With their pants still on, it's not the best but they make it work. Aramis bends impossibly lower, sucks his way from Porthos' collarbone to his nipples, stays there for so long, sucking and pulling, using fingers, tongue and lips that Porthos feels that he could come from this only.

 

But Aramis has slid down a little, enough to open his boyfriend's fancy pants, enough to find his way to his underwear. Enough to free his hardening cock and hold it firmly in his hand. His mouth sucks down Porthos' stomach, the tip of his tongue teasing until it's flat on his cock and Porthos groans. His hips jerk up and he has to cover his eyes because of the tension, because of Aramis, because of how amazing he is.

 

Aramis steadies him, doesn't say a word and swallows as much as Porthos' cock as he can, licks, releases it to focus on Porthos' balls. This blowjob has to be the best Porthos has gotten in months. Aramis is being so selfless and giving his boyfriend everything that he needs. His mouth is hot, his fingers are skilled and determined. Porthos cannot stay still.

 

“Let go,” Aramis says, his mouth brushing Porthos' cock, fingers stroking him, the hand in his hair strong yet never pushing him for more. _This_ Aramis is thankful for and he wants to give Porthos what he needs right now, give him reassurance and proof how how much Aramis cares for him as well. “Please.”

 

The word finds its way to Porthos' heart and he comes with a sharp shout as soon as Aramis' mouth is around him again. Aramis swallows all of it, licks him clean and only looks up when he's sure he's done a thorough job.

 

“You're the best,” Porthos gasps out when Aramis has crawled up and he's kissing him. It's a deep kiss, long and hard, carrying so much meaning that it makes Porthos even dizzier.

 


	3. Fall (Part Two)

**October**

 

The next morning, Aramis is woken up by Porthos. Or rather his hand nudging his shoulder until Aramis manages to open his eyes. There's only half of his face poking out from under the duvet.

 

“Hi,” Porthos greets him.

 

“Good morning,” Aramis manages to reply. As he sits up, he looks disoriented and his rebellious hair is sticking up in every direction. After a couple of seconds, he can focus on Porthos who is sitting at the edge of the bed, actually fully clothed and his hair a bit wet. “What time is it?”

 

“Just after nine.”

 

Aramis stretches under the sheets, rubs his face on the pillow.

 

“I've got you some breakfast.”

 

This is enough to spark some interest in Aramis who sits up, groans at the pain inside his skull, then scratches his beard and yawns. His hair is on his face and he has to constantly push it back. Perhaps that haircut that Constance has been suggesting wouldn't be such a bad idea.

 

Aramis grabs the paper bag Porthos hands him to check its content. It smells of chocolate and butter. The pastry is so sweet on his tongue, flaky and still hot from the bakery oven. It melts in his mouth. Lost in it, he almost forgets to thank Porthos.

 

“What's the occasion?”

 

Porthos only shrugs.

 

“I woke up early and thought I'd take a walk.”

 

“In the rain?”

 

There are heavy clouds outside, grey and black and no sun. Not a hint that they'll see some blue sky during the day.

 

“It doesn't bother me,” Porthos assures him. He accepts the bite of croissant Aramis feeds him, and also the thanking kiss which follows. He can taste chocolate on his lips but he resists the urge to lick them.

 

“Thank you. My head hurts a little,” Aramis has to confess.

 

“You drank too much champagne. Light weight,” Porthos teases him, but stands up nonetheless. “Keep eating, I'll get you something.”

 

He goes to the bathroom, looking for some meds. Slowly, as he wakes up, Aramis starts to remember the events of the previous night, mainly their fight. The first real one they've had and he didn't like it. At all.

 

Soon, Porthos is back with a glass of water and some pills. Aramis studies him closely, searches his face for any trace of anger or resentment which may still be there. He cannot find any. Instead, Porthos smiles at him.

 

“Thank you,” Aramis says again after he's swallowed the painkillers.

“I was a jerk last night,” Porthos admits. It doesn't sit well with him and it's the reason why he didn't sleep correctly. He's been starting to hate himself. “I shouldn't have accused you like that. It was unfair and unjustified and... that stupid jealousy overruled everything else when I should have been proud of you.”

 

His hand is on his face, shielding his eyes from Aramis. Porthos sighs heavily.

 

“I ruined it.”

 

The hand on his shoulder is gentle, warm and comforting. Then Aramis forces his fingers apart so he can see him properly.

 

“You _almost_ ruined it. We're good, now, aren't we?”

 

“I guess. I....honestly cannot believe I'm turning 31 in a couple of weeks and you're my first real relationship which somehow hasn't collapsed yet.” The way Aramis grins at the words, how special it makes him feel, it reassures Porthos a little, gives him strength to keep talking. “It's like I don't know what I'm doing but I...I won't do it again,” he decides. “I mean, be jealous like that.”

 

“Don't make promises you're not sure you'll be able to keep.”

 

“I'll try, though.” He sounds rather determined.

 

“To be fair, I don't think I would have enjoyed it if it had been you everybody was admiring.”

 

“But you'd have been supportive. Which I wasn't.”

 

“We can't know that. Stop beating yourself up, Porthos. You already quite made up for it.” To prove his point, Aramis licks his sticky sugar-coated fingers before reaching for the second pastry Porthos bought him.

 

Just then, Porthos' phone bips, reminding him that he has to go to work. Their conversation is unfortunately not over. There is so much more he has to make sense of, so much he needs to understand.

 

“I know tonight's your son's night but would you be available after? Because I'd really like to talk more.”

 

“Nine should work,” Aramis agrees. “My place, then?”

 

“Yeah, good. I've got to dash now.”

 

Porthos knows that he should have awoken Aramis earlier so that they could leave together. And yet, he'd looked peaceful for once, in his alcohol-induced slumber that Porthos couldn't bring himself to do it. Besides, he had welcomed the time by himself to think.

 

So Porthos leaves Aramis alone with his key. He _tries_ to do it casually, to not make a big deal out of it. And Aramis _tries_ not to grin too widely but he flops right back on the bed once he's utterly alone. In his boyfriend's apartment. Who trusts him enough to do such a thing.

 

Later that night, Aramis is sitting at the table in his apartment, absorbed in his conversation. The shrilling doorbell startles him. He gave the code to his building to Porthos months ago and he is astonished to realize that they've already been skyping for two whole hours.

 

“ _Wait,”_ Aramis says to his screen and the people on the other side. _“Someone's at the door.”_

 

Of course it's Porthos because who else could it be at this hour? Aramis is as happy to see him as he always is even though tonight, he's suddenly feeling nervous. Damn timing.

 

“I'm sorry. I forgot to text you to say that we're running a bit late. They're still online.”

 

Porthos tries and miserably fails at not looking disappointed. He's spent a long day going over everything that has happened in the past hours, what Flea has been saying to him about his relationship and he was greatly looking forward to saying it all to his boyfriend.

 

Instead, his shoulders drop and he's already ready to go down the stairs.

 

“That's all right. I'll see you tomorrow?”

 

“Wait!” Aramis grabs his arm, forces him to stay where he is. “You're here now. You're not going anywhere. Let me say goodbye and then you'll have my undivided attention.” He concludes with a resounding kiss, followed by a second and a third, giving Porthos all the more reasons to come inside.

 

“ _Sorry about that,”_ Aramis resumes his conversation in Spanish as he sits back down on his chair. Porthos hovers by the couch, attempts to stay out of range of the webcam. _“A friend just arrived.”_

 

Even though he was expecting it, it's a shock to hear the little voice on speaker. Porthos only has some basics of the Spanish language he remembers from high school, but it's enough to catch some common words.

 

“ _Hi, friend!”_

 

The little boy goes on after this but it's mainly gibberish which is lost in translation. The greeting is replaced by a cristalline female laugh and Aramis' nervous one. Until he switches to French once more and hardly hesitates before saying his boyfriend's name.

 

“Porthos doesn't understand Spanish as well as you do French, Mati.”

 

“Oh. Hi, Porfos!” The second greeting, in French, astonishes Porthos even more. His mouth is half open when Aramis slowly turns towards him, apprehension yet hope in his voice.

 

“Do you want to say hi?”

 

Porthos hesitates, too, fidgets in his spot. He's quite aware that Aramis looked too surprised and nervous to have planned it all beforehand. Besides, it wouldn't be like his boyfriend to trap him so.

 

He's also deeply aware that if he wants things to develop and improve, at one point he'll have to meet the other half of Aramis' life. The problem is that Porthos isn't certain he's completely ready yet. Nevertheless, he'll have to take this plunge one day or another. So he breathes out, takes a few steps towards the table and sits on the chair by Aramis.

 

While there's a large smile on Aramis' face, it's tight and constrained. He grabs Porthos' hand as soon as he's seated. It's a firm grip which conveys so much, which overwhelms them both. Porthos clutches the fingers tightly.

 

“Hello,” he says, but it comes out in a gasp. He also waves awkardly at the blond curls taking most of the screen and the face studying him because he doesn't know what else to add. Captivated by Aramis' child, Porthos misses the woman whose lap the boy is sitting on. She's also looking at Porthos intently then she smiles brightly and waves back at him.

 

“It's nice to meet you, Porthos.” She has no accent either and that's it, Porthos is a bit jealous of them all.

 

“It is,” he replies. But he'll only totally agree that it's nice later on. For now, he's too busy trying to digest all that is changing for him, for them, in those few minutes. “...Anne,” he adds. Aramis' nails dig into his skin.

 

Mati is oblivious to the silent conversation the adults are having, discovering one another, positioning each other around Aramis and what they represent for him.

 

“Look the drawing I maked!”

 

The screen fills with the sheet covered in bright colours. It's too close, moving too much for Porthos to see what's on it. But for the child, it doesn't matter if he's talking to a stranger. He's a friend of his father and it's more than enough to include him in whatever discussion they were having before Porthos interrupted them.

 

“Wow, you're...you're a great artist,” Porthos compliments him because how do you talk to a child? He literally has _no_ idea.

 

“Yes!” is the loud answer.

 

“You know that Porthos' best friend is a good artist, too. But not as talented as you, don't worry.”

 

Aramis clearly knows how to handle kids so he takes charge of the end of the video call, apologizes for having made other plans and having to hang up.

 

Porthos remains motionless, speechless after the call has ended. On the other hand, Aramis stands up, lights a cigarette, fetches two bottles of beer from the fridge and hands one to Porthos.

 

“That's not how I imagined you would meet.” He laughs nervously. Porthos shakes his head, stands up. He's only realizing what's actually happened now that it's over and they're by themselves.

 

“Neither did I. I mean, I'd thought about it because well, you're becoming really important for me so it was just a matter of time before it happened but it's a lot to process.”

 

“I'm aware. You did good, though. Thank you.”

 

Soft lips are on his, smelling of tobacco and so incredibly Aramis. A slight reward.

 

“He _is_ as enthusiastic as you are.”

 

“Well, he was talking to _you_. Who wouldn't be?” His tone is flirty, hiding the fact that his two worlds just collided and it went smoothly. It's a lot to take in. It's more than Aramis expected. His hand is trembling around his beer.

 

“And how come you all manage to switch so easily between languages? I mean, he's four!”

 

“Perks of having bilingual parents and grandparents, I suppose. Will you be all right, Porthos?” Aramis asks, suddenly very serious. His boyfriend seems as shaken as he is, taken by surprise and perhaps not quite fully prepared for what happened. Porthos takes a couple of shallow breaths, paces the room, a frown on his face.

 

“Yes. I...It's better that it was only a few minutes for the first time. And like that. On the computer. You really are doing an excellent job with him, Aramis.”

 

It's a justified observation from the short time he's seen Aramis interact with his son, if only via a screen. Porthos can't even begin to imagine how much they must miss each other. He remembers missing his mother when he was younger, but it couldn't be the same. His mother was dead, he thought his father was, too. It cannot be the same pain as knowing your parent is alive and yet hundreds of miles away.

 

Aramis' eyes light up with pride and happiness. He collapses on the couch with Porthos, buries his face in the crook of his neck, legs propped on Porthos' lap. He's done shaking for now. So is Porthos.

 

“You certainly didn't come here to talk about Mati, did you?”

 

“I didn't,” Porthos confirms. He sips from his beer until it's empty. It'll give him some more courage. “It's about that key I gave you this morning.”

 

“Oh sure!” Aramis exclaims. “Let me get it for you. I think it's...”

 

He starts to extricate himself from Porthos' embrace when there's a solid arm on his shoulder.

 

“I'd like you to keep it.”

 

Aramis turns back slowly, wide eyes and one corner of his mouth lifting. Whether for a smile or a sneer, Porthos can't be sure. His boyfriend is staring straight at him, looking for any sign that it's only a joke. Yet, Porthos couldn't be more serious. His voice is remarkably steady when he repeats it.

 

“I'd like you to keep the key.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“You're there so often already, which I like. A lot. It makes sense.”

 

His disproportionate reaction the day before, all the little things he loves about Aramis, the fact that he misses him the very second they have to say goodbye: it all adds up. Although it's unknown territory for Porthos, he's willing to move forward, to do everything in his power to make it work.

 

“And now, you won't have to go out of your way to the gym every time we have plans at my place.”

 

Aramis is still unable to say anything back. Instead he throws himself at Porthos. Their kiss is deep, his tongue so far inside Porthos' mouth that he has to hold Aramis back a little until they can settle into long and passionate kissing. Aramis grabs his sweater with both hands, invades Porthos' space beautifully.

 

Porthos grabs him back, hands firm on his hips. They let the previous tension subside and they relish in having found a new common ground. This reaction is exactly what Porthos was expecting. Strangely, meeting Anne and Mati has made his proposal less fearful than Porthos envisioned it.

 

“I love being at your place, too,” Aramis declares, unwilling to stop kissing his boyfriend. He makes up for it with renewed groping, one hand sliding under Porthos' clothes. Muscles clench under Aramis' touch. “As a matter of fact, I...I meant to ask you if you wanted a key for here but I only have the one and I know,” he says when Porthos frowns. “...it's not wise, what if I lose it. Anyway, I'll have one made for you if you'd like.”

 

“I'd love to.”

 

Porthos' heart swells with relief and delight. Honestly, he doesn't know if he could handle more right now. It's more than he hoped for. Aramis notices.

 

“How long have you been wanting to ask me?”

 

“I don't know. Last night really settled it, but...I didn't want to seem desperate or too pushy.”

 

“Porthos, Porthos, Porthos. I can't believe I make you turn into someone so insecure. Of course I would have loved to get that key months ago. Do you remember how I didn't want to let you go the first night you were here?”

 

It's one of the first memories Porthos has of Aramis, coming for sex and ending up staying the night, much to the other's insistance. He nods.

 

“It absolutely hasn't changed. I never want to see you go. The more time we can spend together, the more I like you. You could never be too pushy.”

 

To prove his point, Aramis gets comfortable on Porthos' lap, and he's the one who pushes as close as he can, wraps himself in hot arms, lashes against Porthos' neck. When he looks up, they're both grinning like the couple of overloving men that they are. Exchanging keys is enough of a statement for the moment and yet, so much still hangs in the air, common knowledge to them both.

 

“Another beer?” Aramis suggests, hands flat on Porthos' chest under his sweater, rubbing smooth skin.

 

“I thought you were hungover.”

 

Aramis tuts.

 

“That was this morning. I'm much better now.”

 

In every way possible.

 

**November**

 

Indeed, life becomes exceedingly more awesome after this, as far as Aramis is concerned. They spend many nights cooking in his apartment, Porthos improving his skills but really, he's just extremely glad to be able to try all these incredible dishes Aramis manages to create. Still, he learns to bake a couple of cakes; he loves sampling them all.

 

What he prefers is licking the spare chocolate off Aramis' chest or making whipped cream _(from scratch,_ Aramis insists _)_ and using it far more wisely than on a dessert.

 

Aramis also discovers that his boyfriend gives excellent massages. They are the best medicine to calm his wrecked nerves the closer his dissertation defense gets. It's not that big of a deal since it's only a Masters Degree but Aramis has been pouring his heart and soul into it for more than a year so he would hate to fail the last step.

 

The most stressful part is that he has no idea what he intends to do afterwards. He's started to look for some jobs. He used to be interested in journalism but that would mean more studies. He'd love to go into editing but unfortunately, there isn't much hope on that side. Leaving Paris isn't even an option anymore.

 

In the two weeks since they've exchanged keys, they haven't spent one night apart. Even Friday nights. They're taking it slow on that front. Porthos only talks to Mati and Anne for a couple of minutes each time, but he's growing less nervous about it. The boy is always full of joy and it makes Porthos happy to see Aramis so alive during those video calls.

 

Things are beginning to pile up in the other's apartment, mostly clothes and even some books. They hardly comment on it, it seems the natural progression of their relationship and Porthos is as comfortable as he could be in it.

 

That's how, two nights before Aramis must submit himself to his dreaded dissertation defense they find themselves cuddled on the couch in Porthos' apartment, as far away as possible from Aramis' school stuff so he won't be tempted to take a look at them. The other side of Paris only seemed to be far enough.

 

It's a quiet evening, ice cream and a movie. When Aramis' phone chimes on the coffee table, Porthos grabs it for him.

 

“It's your mom. Sorry I didn't mean to look.”

 

She's confirming Aramis' parent's flight for the next day. He's grateful they're coming to support him. They're his biggest fans and he'll need all the help he can get to remain calm. Whereas he's usually quite confident in his skills and his knowledge, being judged is not something he enjoys. Besides, he hasn't seen them since August and it's been forever since they've come to Paris. It'll be a welcomed reunion.

 

“She's asking me if they'll get to meet you. Only if you want of course,” Aramis adds quickly when Porthos wipes his head from the TV to gaze at him. “I can make up an excuse if you're not ready or...”

 

Porthos loves that Aramis doesn't push him, that he has perfectly understood how Porthos works.

 

“I'd be honoured to meet them.”

 

He can do that much in this important moment for his boyfriend. He's less afraid to ruin things lately. Everything in his relationship satisfies him, pleases him. The smile lighting up Aramis' eyes is one of his favourite things.

 

“But after I'm done, though. They're staying for some days. My mom wants to see the new exhibition in the Grand Palais.”

 

“The one you're planning to go to on Saturday.”

 

“Precisely. I'd tell you to join us but...”

 

“Saturday on the Champs Elysées? Thank you but no, thank you.”

 

“I assumed so.”

 

Porthos reaches for Aramis, brings him against his side once again, phone forgotten, movie half so, drowned out by kissing.

 

Nevertheless, Porthos grows nervous on his way to the restaurant where they've agreed to meet. He's only received one text from Aramis in the afternoon, letting him know that he was done. That he would also have gone to bury himself in self-loathing if his parents hadn't been there to drag him outside and treat him to a late afternoon snack. All of this to simply text him the address of the restaurant. Aramis can be so dramatic over ridiculous silly things.

 

There was however no indication of a particular dress code. Porthos wanted to impress, though. They're the first parents he meets after all. Aramis is his first in so many ways. But Porthos could never disappoint, he's so charming and wonderful, Aramis assures when he finally meets them in the street.

 

His parents are quite welcoming, all warm smiles and strong handshakes. Having Aramis hanging on to his arm with great might is helpful. There isn't a shadow of stress or trouble on his face. A great weight has been lifted from his mind.

 

“I'm sure you aced it,” Porthos reassures Aramis after he's asked him how it went and Aramis' answer was one long sigh.

 

“Of course he did. He's never failed a single exam in his life.” Porthos can hear the pride in his mother's words, a feeling that he also shares. Frankly, he's amazed Aramis managed to research and write so many pages. He could never have done it. Finishing it, getting it published, if only in the university library, is a big achievement.

 

Porthos gives Aramis one quick kiss on the cheek to end this discussion. The sweet gesture makes Aramis close his eyes for a second. He feels like the happiest man on Earth, which isn't even an overstatement and he doesn't care if it's cheesy.

 

The conversation over dinner is polite yet easy, in spite of the occasional Spanish. Porthos has been trying to improve his skills in the language. He wouldn't have imagined Aramis would have glowed so much when he requested some lessons.

 

He's being asked about his job, about his family, which is quite normal when you meet your son's new boyfriend. Porthos answers all the questions, never minding Aramis who keeps on reprimanding his curious mother. His father is more quiet but nice nonetheless.

 

They all walk back to their hotel after they had coffee and the three men fought over who would get the check. With a simple stare, Aramis' father had shut them both up.

 

“It was really nice to meet you, Porthos,” Aramis' mother tells him once they're in the hotel lobby. She has the same smile as her son and he cannot help but respond to it.

 

“Likewise.”

 

“I hope we'll see you again soon.”

 

She's looking intently at her son as she says so, but Aramis merely shrugs, would tell her to mind her own business but he's afraid of the subsequent scolding his father would give him. Then she rummages in her bag to find the card to their room.

 

“Oh! I had something for you, I completely forgot! It was supposed to bring you luck! I...”

 

“What is it?”

 

Her eyes move from Porthos to Aramis, who is hanging on to the other's arm once again, eyes full of curiosity. She hesitates.

 

“Never mind I...I'll give it to you tomorrow.”

 

Aramis can plainly see the piece of paper she's clutching and trying to hide, unsure of how it would be welcomed.

 

“Is it from Mati? Because that's all right. You can give it to me now.”

 

Both parents notice how Porthos doesn't flinch at the new name. There is no further hesitation to hand the folded paper to her son. She also decides that she likes his boyfriend even more now and hugs him one more time before they disappear in the elevator.

 

Aramis waits until they're out of sight to unfold the sheet. Of course it's from Mati and of course it's a drawing, of Aramis, surrounded by books and the Eiffel Tower in the background. The top right-hand corner is taken by a massive and bright “Good luck” written both in Spanish and in French.

 

“Don't tell me he can also write!” Porthos exclaims, breaking the little bubble of happiness Aramis was in. He sounds so shocked, unbelieving.

 

“That's Anne's handwriting,” Aramis explains. “But with such an amazing father, would it really be a surprise if he could?”

 

At this, Porthos growls and grabs him by the waist, holds him like he couldn't when they had company. He doesn't look for a clever comeback to Aramis' joke but kisses him, full on the mouth in the middle of the hotel lobby.

 

“I remember mentioning that I wanted to take these clothes off of you.”

 

Aramis moans, rather inappropriately given the setting.

 

“I've been waiting all day.”

 

The ride to Aramis' apartment is quick and for once, he doesn't lose time opening his front door. When it's done, and the light is on, he stands in the middle of his living room, arms stretched, teasing Porthos even more.

 

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

 

But he keeps on moving backwards as he says so, all the way to his bedroom until Porthos catches him, spins him around fast and Aramis finds himself flat against a wall, face first. Porthos has a strong grip on him, pressing his entire body against him from behind.

 

“I think that's enough teasing for the night,” he grunts.

 

“Me, teasing? Never!” Aramis is squirming with no real intention to break free. He's loving it. His breath itch at the hand working his belt open. Porthos' lips are on his neck, licking along the collar of his top.

 

“Wasn't it you who was rubbing your hands all over my pants in the taxi?”

 

“It was your clever idea that taking a cab would be quicker than the subway.”

 

“Your hands, they made me hot. For you.”

 

His teeth are raking up Aramis' neck. It makes him shudder along with the hand pushing its way down his pants then moving up to his stomach.

 

“Do you plan to do something about it?” Aramis rasps out, the weight of Porthos' body on his back making him hot, too. His clothes also feel suddenly too tight. It's not helped when Porthos rocks his hips, once, twice then on a more rapid rhythm.

 

How he manages to unzip his own jeans at the same time is a mystery to Aramis. He's only thankful there's another hand grabbing his boxers, stroking his already willing cock.

 

“How about _you_ do something about it?” Porthos' low snarl does extraordinary things to Aramis who can only moan in response. Porthos releases him then, allows him to turn around. They take the opportunity to kick off their shoes, to get rid of their pants and underwear before Aramis raises his arms above his head so Porthos can also take off his sweater.

 

As soon as he's completely naked, he clings to Porthos' neck, gives him greedy kisses, wishes the hands on his hips would hold him more tightly. He has such pent-up energy to unleash, Aramis feels like he'll implode if Porthos doesn't take care of him soon.

 

“My pleasure,” he whispers in a husky voice before he bites on Porthos' lip, soothes the sting with another lingering kiss.

 

One of his hands lands on Porthos' cock and he swallows the string of curses which follows. His back is to the wall again. Their cocks are blissfully rubbing together, skin to skin, nothing in between but passion and excitement.

 

Porthos' hands are flat on the wall, looking for any support he can get before Aramis wraps one leg around his waist, preventing them both from collapsing to the floor, keeping them both close together.

 

He welcomes Porthos' fingers inside him, clenches around them a little and instantly feels so full of renewed desire. It's been too long since they've done it, Aramis had more urgent matters to concentrate upon and yet he's immensely missed how Porthos' fingers can work him, bring his excitement to such unbelievable heights.

 

“The bed,” he gasps in a raspy voice after minutes of moaning. Porthos obeys, releases him and watches him sprawl on the bed, spread legs beckoning him, body gloriously naked. Porthos breathes out short ragged breaths.

 

He's been dreaming about this for days, and simply sleeping with Aramis by his side was definitely not helping refrain any pulsion he may have had. Now that he gets to have him naked for hours, he's overwhelmed by the possibilities.

 

It's like his hands are scorching hot against Aramis' hips. Aramis loves it. He loves how Porthos bites his lip, how he never looks away from him as he pushes inside, how he fights to keep his eyes. Aramis knows because he's trying to do the same, to not break eye contact in spite of the tremors in his body.

 

Porthos feels them too in the way Aramis stretches around him, how his body moves to take him in. He almost falls down on top of him from the sensation. He would have done so if not for the hands roaming his broad chest, the fingernails gliding everywhere, hot trails on his burning skin. Aramis' hips are pushing up, making Porthos go deeper.

 

There's sweat on his brow. Wild moans coming from Aramis underneath him.

 

Porthos' hand shoots around the other's cock when it's clear that he's close. The sex is too good, and Aramis is too enticing and it's a tragedy that Porthos cannot last longer. He comes fast, collapses on the mess on Aramis' stomach when he came as well. It makes them stick together.

 

“If that's how you make me pay, I'll tease you more often,” Aramis decides in a cheeky yet shaking voice, brushing short curls from his face, wiping his brow. Porthos is still inside of him, unwilling to move.

 

“You already do, Aramis.”

 

“I know.”

 


	4. Fall (Part Three)

**November**

 

Aramis has been incredibly busy today. It's Porthos' birthday and he has it in mind to treat him to the best evening he could have dreamed of. Which basically means that Aramis has been cooking for the entire afternoon. In Porthos' kitchen. While Porthos was at work. He perfectly knows his way around his boyfriend's place by now, and being in it by himself for hours gives him such warm feelings that it sometimes overwhelms him.

 

A really delicious smell greets Porthos once he gets back home after a long day at work. Aramis hardly hears him over the loud music he's put on. He's all bright smiles as he scampers to Porthos after raising his head and finding his boyfriend staring at him, grinning.

 

“Happy birthday!” Aramis exclaims, even though he wished him several times, from the moment he woke up to numerous texts sent throughout the day. It's been a long time since he's stopped worrying that he shouldn't cram Porthos' phone like that.

 

“I gotta say, I was hoping you wouldn't be wearing anything under that,” Porthos replies, tugging on the folded apron Aramis has tied around his waist. Half of his shirt is covered in flour.

 

“And then I would have burnt myself and we would have spent the night at the hospital.”

 

“If that's so, it's the first time I'm glad you're not naked.”

 

Aramis puts his food preparation aside, wraps himself in Porthos' arms, kisses him until his boyfriend grows much softer and lets Aramis sit him down in a chair. Aramis sits on his lap, arms around his neck.

 

“It smells like my favourite cake,” Porthos realizes. Aramis couldn't be more proud, of having followed the recipe and successfully baked the dessert. And of not having ruined the surprise too soon. He's spent days harassing Porthos' friends to gather ideas of what to put on the menu.

 

“It is.”

 

“Who's the snitch?” Porthos asks after he's gone for another kiss. Short black curls tickle his cheek when Aramis shakes his head vigourously.

 

“I'm not telling you. Do you want something to drink?”

 

Before Porthos can answer, Aramis is on his feet, heading for the fridge, opening a door and taking two glasses out. It's enough to make Porthos grin and lean back in his chair. Seeing Aramis like this, so at ease, at _home_ , in an apartment that isn't even his, he honestly wouldn't have dreamt of it. He's no idea what he did to be so lucky. But for once, and after so long, Porthos isn't afraid of it anymore.

 

“What else are you making for me?”

 

“It's also a surprise. As a matter of fact, you're going to go and relax in the living room.” His tone conveys such authority, but Porthos finds it cute, coming from Aramis who is usually all charms and sweetness. The way he pulls on Porthos' arm to make him stand up is less so.

 

Yet, Porthos can hardly refuse to stretch out and be in a quiet atmosphere after hours at the gym. He switches the music down, hears no protest, only one shocked gasp too soon after he's just made himself comfortable on the couch.

 

“What's wrong?” He's on his feet at once, spills a little beer on the coffee table.

 

Aramis looks profundly ashamed and disappointed when he emerges from the kitchen, a bag of groceries in hand.

 

“I was so focused on making this fabulous dessert that I forgot the rice.” Then he bites his lip because he's just told Porthos what they're going to eat and of course, he's ruined the surprise. It only makes Porthos laughs.

 

“And what kind of rice would that be?”

 

“You know,” Aramis pouts, in an adorable manner then is horrified as Porthos puts his coat on again. “I'll go! It's your birthday!”

 

“And you're my personal chef making me delicious things in here. I wouldn't want to stir you away from them. I'll make it quick.” Not as quick as another couple of kisses and as many thank yous from Aramis.

 

“Just to be sure, though,” Porthos clarifies before heading out. “You're making risotto, aren't you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“With bacon and mushrooms?”

 

“Go!” Aramis almost shouts, almost stomps his foot.

 

“And cheese?”

 

“Go!”

 

Even with the door closed, Aramis can hear Porthos' laughter all the way down the corridor to the elevator. He cannot help but smile at his boyfriend, at his own inattention. How do you manage to forget the main ingredient to a dish?

 

Being alone again allows him to set the table, to use the fancy plates Porthos has but never uses and if his birthday isn't occasion enough, then they'll never use them. He cleans the mess Porthos made on the coffee table, puts the glass down on the table, makes another mess there, too, when the doorbell rings, much sooner than he anticipated. Porthos hasn't been gone for five minutes.

 

“Did you forget your keys?” Aramis teases, opening the door wide. His hand is frozen on the handle, because it's definitely not Porthos on the other side. “You're not Porthos,” he states, finding nothing more clever to say.

 

“You're not my son”, the older man says. And _that_ makes Aramis lose his countenance a little. He's still staring at the stranger looking at him with narrow eyes. His uniform intimidates Aramis.

 

“I'm sorry, sir. Please come in.”

 

“Who are you exactly?”

 

“I'm Aramis, sorry.” He has no idea what to do with his hands but he takes a step to the side to allow Porthos' father inside. It's all too sudden and unexpected to remain calm. His heartbeat is speeding up. “Porthos went to get some groceries and I thought...”

 

“Do you live with him?” Sometimes, it does feel like it. And honestly, it's becoming a tiny bit ridiculous to carry changes of clothes everywhere, to have to decide where they're going to spend the night. But neither of them is willing to start this discussion. Yet.

 

Porthos' father comes inside anyway, because it would be rude to stay on the threshold. His eyes haven't left Aramis' nervous face, he's frowning in deep concentration, studying the younger man intensely. It's such a sombre expression, Aramis finds it scary.

 

“No, I'm just...”

 

“His boyfriend?”

 

Aramis rakes his hair, looks up sheepishly.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Well, in that case, nice to meet you.”

 

His handshake is strong in Aramis' sweaty palm. He's started to sweat.

 

“Porthos isn't here?”

 

“He's gone out for some groceries. He'll be back soon.” Aramis is definitely impressed and doesn't know what to do for a short while. He's aware the other is as surprised and certainly feeling out of place and yet, he doesn't show it at all. Then he remembers that even though he may not live here permanently, he's nevertheless the host for the time being. “Would you like something to drink? There's beer. Or wine.”

 

Tréville studies the living room, the table with the plates and the glasses and the music in the background, the noise of something being heaten up on the stove.

 

“A beer would be fine, thank you.”

 

Aramis all but runs to the kitchen to get it, and it's a welcome excuse to steady his nerves, take a couple of relaxing breaths. Which don't relaxe him totally. Porthos' father is sitting down when he gives him his drink.

 

“I wanted to surprise him,” he explains after taking a sip. “But it's been quite the opposite.”

 

“He'll be surprised all right.” Aramis gives a nervous laugh at this. He's fidgeting on his feet until Tréville asks him to please, sit down. “I don't think that's how he intended for us to meet.”

 

“It would have been nice to know you even existed,” he mutters and just like that, nervosity takes control of Aramis' mind again.

 

Meeting his parents had been planned ahead, Porthos knew it would happen, he'd been prepared for it. It's different for Aramis and he isn't even certain Porthos wanted him to meet his father. If he considers it, they've hardly talked about it. He wasn't going to suggest it and it seemed that the idea never crossed Porthos' mind. But to hear that he hadn't told his father he was dating someone, that disturbs Aramis.

 

The silence doesn't suit any of them and they make awkward small talk about their day and what Aramis is cooking until they hear the key in the lock. Aramis sighs, with relief or fear, he doesn't know, and springs to his feet.

 

“There! I got you the top quality brand. We wouldn't want some cheap stuff to ruin it!”

 

Porthos' smile disappears the second he realizes his father has somewhat materialized in his apartment.

 

“Was this planned?” he manages to ask. He's not sure he wants to be mad if it's the case. Truth be told, he doesn't really know how to react to any of it right now.

 

“Absolutely not,” Aramis swears, shaking his head widely, grabbing the bag of rice to have something to do. “I'm sure our faces were a sight to behold.”

 

He's laughing nervously, dying to find comfort in Porthos' arms and yet not daring to take another step towards him while his father is watching. Porthos seems frozen in his spot and only snaps out of it when Aramis decides to go finish dinner.

 

The apartment isn't that big and Aramis can hear the conversation in the next room loud and clear. Still, he _tries_ not to listen too much.

 

“How's work going?” Porthos asks, sitting down in the chair Aramis used earlier.

 

“Stressful but otherwise good. When were you planning on telling me?” His dad has no time for niceties. Porthos groans, reclines in his seat, rubs his temples.

 

“Soon.”

 

“I never met anyone you dated except for Alice so that's rather new to me. To see you with someone. Excuse me for being curious.”

 

“I had people. Just not worthy enough to meet you.”

 

“What about him, then?”

 

This draws another smile from Porthos who starts to slowly accept that the evening will take a different turn than expected. Aramis is making more noise than usual in the kitchen and his boyfriend _knows_ he's trying very hard to give them privacy. So he replies a little louder than normal, wanting Aramis to overhear it.

 

“He's worthy. A great deal. I was waiting for the right time, that's all.”

 

“How long have you been together?”

 

“What is this? The Spanish Inquisition?”

 

One chuckle from the kitchen betrays Aramis. Porthos still answers his father after he thinks about it.

 

“...Eight months. But I didn't want to rush it because that's what Athos did and...”

 

“Athos was 20 and that woman was one of a kind. He doesn't look like a psycho. Are you married?” Tréville asks out of blue, narrowing his eyes on his outraged son.

 

“What? No! But...”

 

“They're nothing alike then.”

 

“Yes, but...”

 

“No more buts.”

 

“Dad, I'm 30...31. I'm old enough to decide if I want to take it slow or not.”

 

“And I'm not getting any younger. Have you thought about my grandchildren?”

 

This time, Aramis really does laugh out loud, doesn't even attempt to hide his amusement. He's beginning to like Porthos' father.

 

“Dad!” Porthos exclaims again. He knows it's a joke and for a second, he has half a mind to shut his father up by telling him about Aramis' family.

 

“Are you staying for dinner?” Aramis inquires. He already has a plate and cutlery in hands when he joins them. Tréville smirks at his son, at how comfortable Aramis is and Porthos hardly knows how to respond to that. He nevertheless nods to reply to Aramis.

 

That's how the romantic birthday dinner they had in mind transforms into first an awkward and then a polite conversation about Aramis' life and prospects, how they met and really, Aramis is glad he's busy putting candles on the cake when this particular one is asked. Tréville cannot see the bright blush spreading on his cheeks, all the way down to his neck. Aramis feels on fire.

 

“That wasn't the plan for tonight,” Porthos apologizes after his father has left, leaving him with a hug and shaking Aramis' hand strongly. Aramis hugs his boyfriend from behind, wraps his arms around his waist, rests his chin on his shoulder.

 

“He's nice, Porthos. Scary, but nice.”

 

“It's just an air he gives himself. He likes you.” Aramis smiles, turns ever so slightly so he can drop a kiss on Porthos' neck. “And I wanted you to meet him, you know. I simply couldn't think of a good occasion. I'm not ashamed of you.”

 

“I never doubted it. Come on, now. I have another dessert for you. That I couldn't give you in front of your father.”

 

It sparks new interest in Porthos whose eyes light up mischieviously as Aramis grabs his hand and leads him to the bedroom.

* * *

 

**December**

 

 

So caught up that he was in his growing and developing relationship with Aramis, Porthos would have almost forgotten how much he looked forward to football nights at Athos'. His TV is huge, he has so many cable channels they can catch whatever game they fancy.

 

The air is crispy outside, Aramis keeps on complaining that he's going to freeze to death on their way there. His only redemption are the pizza boxes warming his hands. Soon enough, they're all settled inside, eating pizza with wonderful melting cheese, drinking cold beer and cheering for different teams.

 

For Athos, it's a contrast from the first time Aramis and Porthos were together on his couch. The second night they met, flirting to no end, unashamed and Athos vividly remembers how he couldn't wait for them both to leave. They are much more comfortable now, and it seems that the urge to jump one another whenever they are within touching distance has diminished. Or they have gotten great at refraining it.

 

They are one big cluster on the other end of the couch, tangled in each other's arms. It's funny to notice how easily they switch from insulting the players or the referee to quietly whispering nonsense to the other. Athos has never seen his best friend be so in love with another man and it warms his heart. He cannot wait to tell Ninon about it. That's one gossip he doesn't mind.

 

Some time during the second half, Aramis' phone rings. Its owner cooes at the message on the screen before he shows the picture to Porthos.

 

“How big is _that_ thing?” Mati looks extraordinarily small, standing in front of the lit up and decorated Christmas tree.

 

“Quite. It's a fake one, we bought it when he was only a few months old.”

 

“I haven't even put mine up. They're early.”

 

“It's the 5th of December. I'm actually surprised Anne made him wait that long. He _loves_ Christmas.”

 

“I wonder where he gets it,” Porthos jokes, nugding Aramis who smiles adorably at him.

 

For the past weeks, lights and Christmas trees have appeared all over Paris, the shop windows have morphed into delightful snowny or Christmassy scenes. There are carol concerts planned everywhere. Now that he is free from his academic worries and that his job hunt in on hold until the new year, Aramis has much time on his hands to explore the city and marvels at how a magnicificent place like Paris can turn extra beautiful.

 

“What are you two going on about?” Athos asks because their conversation is a distraction from the game.

 

“My son's Christmas tree,” Aramis replies casually. It surprises Porthos to see him so open about it all of a sudden. It also startles Athos and makes him do a double-take.

 

“The what of your what now?”

 

“My son's Christmas tree. Here. Look.” Aramis hands him the phone as if it's the most natural thing in the world. Athos is a picture of incredulity and Porthos _hopes_ that's not how he looked when he learned about Mati.

 

It wasn't, Aramis will assure him later when they are alone.

 

“Will you need a napkin with that?” Porthos grins at Athos and the beer he has spilled on his cardigan in his shock.

It amazes him to realize how far he's come in so little time when it comes to Aramis' child. He finds himself comfortable talking about it, even when they are not skyping. It's also easier to have conversations with Mati, Porthos thinks of more things to talk about each time and the little boy couldn't be happier to have a new face to entertain. However, Porthos also has to admit that his heart does speed up in fear at the idea that one day he could meet him for real. Pictures, he's good with. The rest...

 

“You bastard,” Athos curses and slaps Porthos' arm when he walks by him on the way to the kitchen to get a paper towel. It merely makes Porthos chuckle.

 

“It's not my story to tell.”

 

Aramis buries himself closer after getting another slice of pizza and kissing his boyfriend's cheek. This time around, he truly believes he will be lucky with Porthos, that he has found someone who makes him really happy and who understands him rather well. Someone who will likely stick around for months. For years, Aramis hopes, but the mere thought of it makes him dizzy with delight. It's overwhelming.

 

What he knows for sure is how relaxed he is whenever Porthos is close to him, how relaxed simply thinking about him makes him feel. So there's no reason to hide the other part of his life anymore since Porthos himself isn't bothered by it.

 

Athos does consider letting it go. It's not his business but he knows it will bug him. Although he isn't one for gossip because he despises it when it's directed at him, this clearly has no precedent and he must have the whole story. He would never have imagined it of Aramis.

 

So he gets some whiskey and forgets the game his team is losing.

 

“Spill the beans.”

* * *

 

 

Since Aramis enjoys Christmas so much, it's only natural for him to go and stroll in the different Christmas markets popping around town. Besides, he's in desperate need of new ornaments for his tree. Porthos goes with him on an afternoon. All the lights are lit in spite of the early hour. There are so many little cabins and so many things to look at. It's a bit suffocating, especially with the crowd.

 

They indulge on spiced wine and waffles. Aramis with a hat on is Porthos' new best thing, with his growing hair sticking out of it. Aramis likes how Porthos' face is half hidden by a massive scarf and he has to push it down everytime he requests a kiss.

 

“Hey, look!” Aramis exclaims while they inspect the packed rows of santons on the shelves surrounding the biggest and most realistic Provencial Nativity village Porthos has ever been given to witness. His boyfriend grabs the figure of a sheperd, looks at it closely before showing it to Porthos. “This one is making the _exact_ same face you made the other day. When you tried my salad at the restaurant and I accidentally gave you a piece of cucumber.”

 

It obviously isn't a compliment to the artist because Porthos remembers how disgusted he had been at the wrong taste in his mouth, how he spat it out and how embarassed Aramis had been to make such a mistake.

 

The observation and comparison are unexpected, though, and Porthos can only snort.

 

“Jesus, I love you, silly.”

 

This time, Aramis doesn't freeze because of the weather. He lets people bump into him, push him into the arms of a stunned Porthos.

 

“Come again?” Aramis grips the other's coat with both hands, the sheperd forgotten on the shelf. His eyes are tinkling in the lights.

 

Porthos wraps his arms around him. The first second of shock passes and he realizes he isn't afraid to say it out loud. It's what he feels, deep in his heart, and he may have been feeling it for months already. Saying the words, having Aramis hear them, it's much better than having to bite his tongue to keep them inside. He's such an idiot, too, sometimes.

 

“I love you,” Porthos repeats, gazing straight at Aramis. The crowd keeps walking past them, there are elbows everywhere, people step on their feet but for once, he doesn't mind the discomfort it would usually trigger.

 

“And I love you, too. How could I not?” Aramis giggles at his own admission. “Merry Christmas to us, I guess.”

 

“Yeah,” Porthos admits, dropping short kisses on Aramis' cold yet smiling lips. He does feel a little submerged by his feelings, by what appears to have been commong knowledge and yet was never said out loud before. “Let's get out of here.”

 

“Wait. Now I actually have to buy this one.” So he purchases the santon which prompted Porthos' confession.

 

Aramis is literally skipping on the way to his place, glued to his boyfriend's side. His boyfriend who loves him and that he loves. He's over the moon.

 

Porthos follows happily and in the short time it takes them to arrive to Aramis' apartment, he starts to wonder why he hasn't said it earlier. It changes literally nothing between them if not for the best. It makes his heart swell so it can accommodate all that Aramis encompasses: gestures, faces, pouts, squeals, laughter. So many small things Porthos couldn't live without anymore.

 

Hot chocolate seems the appropriate drink to celebrate and Porthos sips on his mug, eats tiny marshmallows from the bag while he watches Aramis take a small Christmas tree out of storage. He unwraps ornaments and garlands which fill a good portion of the floor in his living room, then adds the new ones he bought during their outing.

 

Porthos helps from the side, chooses where each one should go. It's a quick business and soon, Aramis joins him on the couch for a couple of selfies that he wants to send home.

 

“You could send one to your father, too.”

 

“Good idea.”

 

From the corner of his eye, Porthos notices how Aramis hesitates while he's busy sending the picture to his father.

 

“What is it?”

 

“You know I'm going back to my parents' for Christmas and I was going to...but your dad...”

 

“My dad will be with the President for Christmas.”

 

“Which President?” Aramis sounds astonished.

 

“Which one do you think? The French one. He works for him after all.”

 

“Yes, but, wow. He said he worked for the Defense Department. Why didn't you tell me he was _that_ important?”

 

Porthos puffs out his chest with pride, but it's a goofy move and he can't remain serious.

 

“Now, you know you better not hurt me or he'll have professional killers going after you.”

 

“As if you couldn't do the job yourself.”

 

“Except I'll never have to.” Once Aramis has digested the news and asks some more specifics because he _is_ curious after all, Porthos reminds him of what started the discussion.

 

“So what is it that you wanted to ask me?” He acts inquisitive even though he has a pretty good idea of what the question might be. He also knows his answer.

 

“You could join us if you want.” His tone is shy, unlike the Aramis Porthos is used to these days. It resembles the first Aramis Porthos got to interact with, after they slept together for the first time and he was desperate to let him know he didn't do one-night stands. Aramis sounds excited by the prospect as well. He's bouncing a bit on the couch.

 

“Who's gonna be there?”

 

“Everybody.”

 

“And...”

 

“Mati and Anne, too, yes. She refuses to spend the holidays with her parents until they talk to me again. Which I hope will happen soon, for her sake.”

 

A short silence stretches between them, Porhos considering the answer, everything that it entitles, everything that he _thinks_ he is ready to face. What better occasion? And frankly, spending this special time away from Aramis isn't appealing. He's used to his father being away and to being invited at Athos' parents' for Christmas. Spain sounds like a nice change.

 

“You'll have to help me pick gifts for everyone, then.”

 

There isn't an ounce of fear as he decides it. No apprehension whatsoever, at least for the time being. It's only natural to go this way. It's so important for Aramis, for them. Aramis beams up at him.

 

“I already got my present.” He crawls on Porthos' lap, barely paying attention to the (fortunately empty) mug in his hand. Porthos would gladly agree to all that Aramis wants, simply to be rewarded with these fantastic, long and hot kisses.

 

“The closer we get to Christmas, the cheesier we become.”

 

“How is that a problem?” Aramis reaches behind him for a forgotten garland, wraps it around Porthos' neck to prove that indeed, it doesn't matter and that Porthos is the hottest present he could ask for.

 

“If that's us after nine months, imagine how it'll be in a year.”

 

“I'm imagining it very well. Do you want an early Christmas present?” His lips are on Porthos' neck, the tip of his tongue poking out to lick the skin there and yes, Porthos would very much enjoy what Aramis has in mind as he squirms on his lap.

 

“What about the party at the fencing club tonight?”

 

“You're right. Constance will stab me with the first foil she finds if we miss it.We still have an hour before we have to go, though. That's time enough.”

 

In the end, they are late to the party. Constance would get mad at her friend because she put all her heart into the preparations and he didn't see the best part of it. Aramis and Porthos look so pleased and ecstatic together, walking hand in hand, smiling and all around the most gorgeous couple she has ever seen that she can't feel anything but happiness for them.

 


	5. Winter (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CHRISTMAS!!

By the time Porthos and his father leave the park, it's getting dark. It's been a work-out to run around in the dry and cold air. They both have to catch their breath and neither of them talk much until they are safely inside Tréville's house, in the warm living room. Since they will not spend Christmas together, they are doing their own celebration a couple of days in advance. Presents weren't a problem and there was no surprise: Porthos always gets some money and he always gives his father a fine bottle of whatever alcohol he is running low on.

 

“Why didn't you bring your Aramis?” his father asks after they've settled down in the armchairs surrounding the fireplace and flames are starting to warm them up. “Even if he doesn't like playing football, he would have been more than welcome.”

 

“He knows. It's Friday night, that's all.”

 

“So?”

 

Porthos busies himself with his drink, takes a long sip which makes him squint. That whiskey is quite strong.

 

“It's a funny story...”

 

“Is that so?”

 

Porthos reclines in his seat, stretches his legs and the sore muscles, wonders where to start. There's no pressure from his father and yet he is the only person he's truly comfortable speaking to, even after all these years. The only person who made him feel like he mattered when he was a teenager.

 

The beginning seems like a good place to start.

 

“I've been so used to family leaving, abandoning me and during all these years, it's been quite difficult to keep the people I met. Or perhaps they didn't want to be kept. I don't know. At first I would hate it and then, I just gave up and resigned myself to it. It was exactly the same with all my foster families before you came along.”

 

If anybody asked Porthos how many times he changed families, how many couples took him in for a few months, a few weeks, he wouldn't be able to answer. He has no idea. It had become such a routine for the little boy that he was. Unfair yet never changing.

 

“You were a difficult child back then. Mostly because of it. Unwilling to trust anyone but your friends. I'm only sorry I didn't find you earlier. You deserved more than base sentiments.”

 

“I still turned out pretty good, didn't I?”

 

“You certainly didn't make it easy.”

 

Porthos shakes his head, clearly remembers how long he spent testing Tréville's limits to see when he would reach his breaking-point and send him back to the orphanage. Except he never did.

 

“Anyway. I'm starting to feel like it's the same with Aramis. There was no one I wanted that much before. I mean, there were people to keep me from being too lonely or miserable. You can ask Athos. He'll tell you I wasn't a monk.”

 

Tréville almost chokes on his drink, throws a dark look at his son.

 

“I don't need to know about this!”

 

It merely makes Porthos smirk.

 

“How he's managed to make me realize how much he means to me, how dull my life was before I met him, it sometimes terrifies me. Like it did with you . What if I expect too much only to be crushed?”

 

His father frowns at this, studies him closely to see that Porthos really seems scared of that possible outcome. Tréville has only seen Aramis the one time for Porthos' birthday but they had been comfortable around one another, in spite of the obvious uneasiness of the situation. It's doubtful Porthos' worry will come true any time soon.

 

“That's life,” Tréville replies, shrugging.

 

“I know, dad. That's why I'm giving him everything that I have. He's enough to make me forget what could possibly wrong. Does it sound like a soapy telenovela character?” Porthos adds.

 

“I certainly have never heard you talk like that about anyone. Alice, perhaps?”

 

“Well, I was a teenager and she was my first love. I'm sure I was downright dopey.”

 

“Only to break her heart. Poor girl. I wonder why she still talks to you.”

 

“I didn't “break her heart”. She took it rather well for a girlfriend who was being dumped for a boy. At least I was being honest, for all our sakes. But Aramis....he's different. From everybody else. He's always...smiling and when he isn't, it's just wrong and there's so much more about him. So much, you wouldn't imagine. His energy and his....what?”

 

Only now does Porthos realize that Tréville is staring at him, apparently awestruck by his speech. Amazed by all the changes in his son. He's never seen Porthos so radiant in all of the 17 years he's gotten to be his family. It's like he's a different man, all of a sudden.

 

“Dad, are you crying?” Porthos asks in disbelief.

 

“Nonsense. I've got something in my eye.”

 

“Right,” Porthos snorts, lets it go and pours them some more whiskey. “I'm in love with him,” he adds quietly, with confidence.

 

“I can tell. I could tell when I met him.”

 

They settle in a comfortable silence after that, Porthos happy with the discussion so far, happy to be able to be open about his feelings, happy to make his father happy.

 

“When are you going to Spain?”

 

“Tomorrow morning.”

 

Their flight is sometime around 11, he's let Aramis take charge of the schedule. Porthos hasn't forgotten about it, how could he, and yet, the question gives him palpitations. Excited ones, perhaps. He isn't sure anymore. Aramis is telling Mati and Anne they will have extra company for the holidays during their video call tonight.

 

“I already met his parents last month. I'm more worried about...”

 

Ever since Aramis has decided to be quite open about his family with Athos, he's also decided that Porthos could tell anyone he wanted. It wasn't to be a secret anymore. And if there's one person Porthos can absolutely confide in, it's his father. He nevertheless takes a deep breath before saying it all.

 

“Aramis has a young child. A 4-year old son. I'm meeting him tomorrow.”

 

For a while, all that Porthos can hear is the crackling of the flames, and the eerie silence buzzing in his ears. Tréville is staring at him, hardly blinking, clutching his glass and for a second, Porthos wonders if he hasn't stopped breathing entirely. Then Tréville swallows what's left in his glass, pours himself some more and downs it as well.

 

“You took it better than Athos.” By which Porthos means that he hasn't been slapped or cursed at. He laughs nervously.

 

“Should I ask you if you're ready?” Tréville eventually inquires. The admission is unexpected and the mere fact that Porthos is talking rather casually about it tells him that his son _has_ changed. Plunging like this into unknown situations, of his own free will, that's new.

 

“You could and I'd say no, but I'll never truly be so it's better if it happens soon.”

 

“That's a big responsibility, Porthos.”

 

“You don't have to remind me. Aramis keeps on saying that everything will go smoothly. We skype every Friday night. That's why he couldn't come tonight. And I'm good with it. I mean, he's a great kid and he's used to me so for him, it'll be an effortless transition....I hope. But I don't want to mess it up.”

 

Tréville refrains from asking him how he could do such a thing. It would probably only send Porthos into endless speculations and ruin his evening, possibly his night. Instead, he settles for reassurance.

 

“If he's letting you meet him, it says a good deal about your relationship.”

 

“I know that. It's just...going over all that I could become for him, Mati I mean. I don't know how to do it.”

 

Saying his name has become easier and as a matter of fact, everything is becoming easier. Porthos has even enlisted Flea to help him pick up a gift. Which led him to endure endless shrills about how he had betrayed her by hiding this particular detail for so long. She even stated that she wasn't his friend anymore. For about five minutes until she decided that she wanted Porthos to buy dozens of presents because the boy deserved nothing less. After all, she explained, his father was being held as a (willing) hostage in Paris, far away from his home.

 

Porthos also bought her some candy so she would tone her drama down. A sugar high did it.

 

“Do you think I knew what I was doing with you? Granted, you were a teenager but I often wondered if I wasn't going to destroy the remaining balance you had instead of helping you. Nobody knows how to be a parent until they have to act like one, Porthos.”

 

His father stands when he's finished talking. His hands are on Porthos' shoulders, holding on firmly.

 

“Do you think _I_ wasn't nervous?”

 

“You were anything but.”

 

“Well, I'm a good actor. You will be brilliant, Porthos.”

 

Having talked about it, hearing someone else say the exact same thing Aramis has been telling him for days, it reassures Porthos a little. Apart from that small stressful meeting, he is positive his Spanish Christmas will be amazing.

 

Aramis has painted him the most appealing picture of his family holiday. Church and breakfast and long hours in front of the fire. Board games, walks in the countryside, dinners which take up most of the day, opening piles of presents, using the wrapping paper for new games.

 

And more recently, there's been the addition of small feet pattering and running all over the house. Mati and his two older cousins, the children of Aramis' oldest sister, respectively one year and three years older than Mati.

 

Hide and seek, colouring, pretending to be princesses and dragon slayers, bakers, electricians (which happens to be Aramis' brother-in-law's job), mom and dad. They apparently make the most hilarious imitations.

 

On the plane to Spain, Porthos can finally admit that he is looking forward to it all.

 

Aramis is eating crackers next to him, fidgeting in his seat, looking at his watch every two minutes. It has to stop so Porthos grabs his hand, threads their fingers together.

 

“It won't make the plane go faster.”

 

“I haven't seen him since August,” Aramis replies, biting his lip, his eyes unable to settle on anything. He's hardly slept last night.

 

“I'm aware. You're extraordinary to handle it like you do.”

 

Aramis smiles weakly at this, resumes chewing on his lip.

 

“I may get a little emotional when we arrive.”

 

“As you should. I may be a little nervous,” Porthos admits again. Aramis wipes his head to gaze at him, his own worry forgotten for a few seconds.

 

“He'll love you. You should have seen his face when I told him I wasn't coming alone. You will be requisitioned for many activities, I'm afraid.”

 

Of _this_ , Porthos is glad. Glad of the impression he has made.

 

“I love you for coming, Porthos. It means so much to me. You're the most amazing man I've ever met.”

 

Aramis is on edge and it makes him say things without thinking. But they're couldn't be more true so he doesn't worry about it, about his profession of love. He's excited and nervous at the same time because he wants everything to be perfect. When he says so to his boyfriend, Porthos kisses his knuckles softly then lets go of the other's hand. Only to wrap his arm around Aramis' shoulders until his head is resting against Porthos' arm.

 

“You're more nervous than I am. Calm down.”

 

Keeping Aramis in check helps him, gives him something useful to do.

 

“Do you want a story?”

 

“Are you already practising?” Aramis teases him, even if he's quick to add, “Yes, please.”

 

“It's the only Christmas I remember with my mom. But I promise it's not a depressing story.”

 

Aramis had raised his head in apprehension and still, he grabs Porthos' left hand, holds on to it tightly.

 

“So. I must have been four and we lived in this really tiny apartment in Clichy. And my mom hardly had any money to buy clothes so you can imagine that we didn't have any for presents or a tree. I don't recall much, to be honest. She must already have been sick, I couldn't say. Or it was only the flu, I don't know. Anyway. She worked in a school, that's what the people at the orphanage told me when I asked them. She cleaned around, I suppose.”

 

It nonetheless breaks Aramis' heart a little, to realize that Porthos knows so little about his mother, that most of the details are blurry.

 

“One day, she brought back a stack of colourful paper, markers, glitter. It was as if she had robbed a craft shop. We spent an entire weekend on our project. I think it must only have been an afternoon actually. Time used to stretch for ever when we were together,” Porthos laughs quietly, lost in memory.

 

“We built our own tree. She cut papers, glued them together once I was done colouring, drawing, sticking glitter on them. I remember it being so high. I wish I had pictures. It was fantastic. I kept on doing it for my first years at the orphanage, building trees out of paper. Whenever I would feel sad or confused and it would work like a charm, lift my spirits. I guess I must have some of those in storage somewhere at my father's. They're the most precious memories I have.”

 

“That was a cute story,” Aramic concedes. He gives Porthos a kiss on the cheek then one on the mouth. The setting is awkward but it doesn't matter. Porthos doesn't seem sad at all and Aramis is impressed. There's a dreamy look on his face, then Porthos sniffs and comes back to his boyfriend.

 

“Better?”

 

“Yes. I love you very, very much.”

 

Porthos is such a wonderful person who deserves the world and more, all the affection and care he didn't get for years. And Aramis will make it his duty to achieve this. So he gives him another kiss before he proceeds to ask him what he drew on the papers, what was the easiest and the most challenging. Meaningless details for some but essential for Aramis.

 

It's not as cold in Spain as it was in Paris, Porthos realizes when they step out of the airport in Barcelona. The place is crowded and he's thankful Aramis' father is picking them up. They make small talk during the hour it takes them to reach their estate in the countryside.

 

Once they arrive, Aramis demonstrates an incredible patience as he waits for Porthos to retrieve their bags from the trunk.

 

“Go,” Porthos tells him. It's plain to see how hard Aramis is trying to contain himself and not dash inside. Aramis gives him a sheepish look before he hurries off to the front door, which makes his father laugh. Porthos takes a deep breath.

 

It sounds like a stampede in the hallway. Bags are thrown to the side carelessly. The first thing Porthos notices inside is Aramis on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. It's as if he's collapsed on the last step. He's all right, though, if the amount of speaking he does is any indication. It's too much Spanish, going too fast for Porthos to catch most of it.

 

There's a tiny body buried so deep in Aramis' arms that Porthos would have missed it if not for the squeals and the voice he recognizes from the laptop.

 

The scene is so beautiful that just like this, in a few seconds, Porthos isn't nervous or scared anymore. He revels in how happy Aramis is, how intense their reunion is, how powerful their embrace is. If someone wanted to pull them apart, Aramis would probably scratch their eyes out, never letting his son go.

 

They're oblivious to their audience, Porthos and Aramis' father and his mother who joins them at the racket. It gives Porthos something to do, to greet her, to thank her for having him.

 

“You're more than welcome,” she says softly, pats his arm and takes his coat.

 

She has to go round the cluster on the floor to move. It's impossible to ignore all the kisses and Aramis' head hidden in the blond curls and the heavy breathing.

 

“Hello, Porthos,” Anne greets him from the top of the staircase. She's smiling brightly, too. “How come I never get such a warm welcome home?” she teases her son as she walks down. She bends down to smoothe the blond hair, drops one quick kiss on top of Aramis' head and before Porthos can act surprised, she's come to him and tiptoed to kiss both his cheeks. “It's nice to finally meet you in person.”

 

“It is.”

 

The introduction has brought Aramis' back to his senses. He scrambles to stand up, still holding on tight to his son, legs wrapped around his waist, arms arouns his neck. Mati is clutching strongly, not budging. Aramis dabs his eyes with the back of his hand, sniffs before he can manage to talk.

 

“There's someone who would like to meet you, Mati.”

 

Curious eyes look around once the little boy turns his head away from his father's shoulder. He searches for any unknown person. His face lights up the instant he spots Porthos.

 

“Porfos!”

 

There's such delight in the single word that Porthos can't help smiling back. He waves a little, overwhelmed until he's beckoned closer.

 

“What do we say?” Aramis asks.

 

“Hello!” Mati says, as enthusiastic as ever, unaware of how important the moment is for everybody else.

 

“Hi.”

 

“Can you give him a kiss?” Aramis asks the little boy again. Blond curls bounce as Mati nods. He stretches, unwilling to loosen his hold on his father and Porthos doesn't hesitate to step forward and offer his cheek. He also catches how thankful Aramis looks, how he gazes at them both. The two most important boys in his life.

 

“Good boy,” he congratulates Mati, gives him a kiss.

 

“That's Mamá!” Mati exclaims, pointing at Anne.

 

“I know. I just met her.”

 

“And grandma and grandpa!”

 

“Yes.” Porthos has to laugh a little. “I've already met them.”

 

“Do you want to see my trucks?”

 

It's easy to forget how significant the meeting was when the child is so at ease with the new addition to his circle, how he already knows Porthos, likes him. How Mati makes everything more comfortable. Porthos will only realize his heart never sped up, he never had second thoughts or sweaty hands after they've gone to the living room for Mati's snack. He'd actually just woken up from his nap when they arrived.

 

He's quite awake, though, glued to his father, sitting on his lap, talking so much, half in French, half in Spanish. Aramis' arms are tight on him and Porthos cannot tear his eyes away.

 

It used to terrify him and it's turning out to be rather natural. He feels thankful and blessed to be able to witness such love and affection.

 

Mati shares his apple with everyone, feeds little pieces to his father who only has eyes for him. Having a normal conversation is close to impossible. Aramis cannot focus on anything else but his boy that he's missed terribly.

 

“Are you okay?” Anne demands after she's sat next to Porthos on the opposite couch. “You don't seem as nervous as Aramis said you'd be.”

 

“I'm good. It's not as strange as I imagined it. I mean, not that you're....but it's...”

 

Anne puts her hand on his arm, a comforting gesture. She hasn't lost her smile. Porthos likes her, can see how much the two people on the other side of the room mean to her.

 

“I think I understand what you mean. Anybody would be somewhat ill-at-ease in your situation. It's quite normal. You're handling it well.”

 

“You mean the world to him,” Porthos states. Aramis looks up at this because he's overheard it all, even if he cannot contribute to the discussion. His eyes tinkle at his boyfriend. “The both of you. I'm really looking forward to spending the holiday with all of you.”

 

“I hope you rested before,” she warns him. “Because it won't happen here.”

 

As if on cue, Mati squirms out of his father's grip, hops down, takes Aramis' hand to lead him to the pile of toys in one corner of the room.

 

“Did you have this the last time I saw you?” Aramis grabs the toy dinosaur his son shows him. Mati shakes his head.

 

“Grandma Leti gave it to me.” Aramis doesn't comment on this because Anne's mother has every right to give presents to his son. The boy is happy and that's all that matters.

 

“What does it do?”

 

“It's a dinosaur!” Mati explains. “It goes grrrr and eats the man!”

 

A demonstration follows, in which Mati shows how his toy works, how the dinosaur's mouth effectively opens to capture the poor trainor. A briliant engineering miracle as it even burps.

 

Aramis sits with his legs crossed and Mati plops by his side. Busy playing, he nevertheless always looks up whenever his father shifts, certainly afraid that he'll disappear. So far, this particular toy is the only new one. There are also the famous trucks Mati was so proud of a few weeks beforehand.

 

Soon, he reverts to Spanish, starts creating stories with his toys, hands one to his father, gives directions to Aramis who inevitably finds himself (or his truck) the victim of a car wreck and has to wait for the paramedics. Mati even does the sound effects. For Aramis, it's like this simple interaction makes the four months they had to spend apart fade and vanish.

 

The other adults' conversation is only a buzz behind him. Porthos's voice is a new feature in it, steady, calm and animated. Comfortable. He's being asked details about their flight and if it's his first time in Spain.

 

It is. Or does Ibiza count?

 

Aramis' mother wants to know how long his break is and when he tells her that the gym is closed until the New Year, she decides that he is extremely nice to his employees.

 

“I hope we didn't drive you away for your family,” she worries suddenly.

 

“It's only my dad and he has to work. We already celebrated our Christmas. I'm glad to be here. Aramis sold it well.”

 

His boyfriend turns around at this, grins cheekily. He accepts the mug of steaming coffee his mom hands him, careful to set it out of range of the excited boy moving next to him. Porthos is content with his own drink, observes his surroundings, the large room and the Christmas tree, the fireplace and all the pictures scattered around. The dog bed in the far away corner, but no dogs in sight at present. Everything is new to him and yet, they've all made him feel like he belonged, in the short half-hour he's been with them. Having Anne close to him isn't even a problem. He had never imagined it would be one, but her relationship with Aramis is uncommon to say the least and Porthos dreaded it, too.

 

The multiple chocolates Aramis' mom _-please, call me Carmen-_ forces on Porthos are also a great help to relax more. Anne does indulge on them, too, points to the ones he should avoid and her favourites. She's determined to remain next to him on the couch, to give her son and his father all the time by themselves that they require. For the past years, she's been used to Aramis being both parents for Mati whenever he would visit. Mati still wants her for important rituals, bedtime and such, but for the rest, it's almost always impossible to stir him away from Aramis.

 

She wouldn't be able to be as selfless as Aramis is if their situation was reserved.

 

“Tonight it's only us,” Aramis' mother is explaining to Porthos. “Then tomorrow, we'll have to cook. Our plan is always a small dinner before church in the evening, if that's all right with you.”

 

“Of course. I'm only afraid I won't understand much.”

 

“Your Spanish is really improving, Porthos,” Anne reassures him. “You're even starting to understand Mati so that's saying something.”

 

He likes her, how kind and motherly she is.

 

“Our big Christmas lunch is on the 25th.”

 

“But before, we open presents!” Mati declares, wiping his head around, excitement in his voice. There are a few wrapped gifts under the tree but not as much as Porthos would have presumed. “Santa brings them in the night!”

 

Porthos cannot remember ever believing in Santa Claus and now understands why there aren't more gifts. He hopes he won't make a faux pas and ruin it for the little boy.

 

“What did you ask for?” He surprises himself by asking the question. If it's easy to ask questions through a computer screen, it shouldn't be harder to do it in person. Aramis gazes at his boyfriend fondly.

 

“Lots! Legos, a bike, a Superman costume and books and...,” he crunches his face in concentration to remember more, but can't come up with the end of the list.

 

“My second daughter should be here tomorrow, too,” his grandmother continues, taking advantage of Mati going back to his toys.

 

“What about Sophia?” Aramis inquires.

 

“She'll be with her in-laws on Christmas Day. They'll come on the 26th.”

 

“Does that mean we're getting two Christmas lunches?”

 

“It depends. Are you cooking?”

 

Aramis' shoulders drop a bit because his idea of a stay at his parents' means that he doesn't have to spend too much time in the kitchen. The next question makes him change his mind.

 

“Can we bake cookies?” Mati chimes in, not looking up from what he is doing with the toy cars.

 

“We will,” Aramis promises and ruffles the boy's hair.

 

Aramis' father had disappeared to fetch some logs to light a fire, because the sky is turning darker outside and night will soon be upon them. When he returns, making his way through the hallway, he calls out to the others.

 

“Will you carry your bags upstairs, Aramis? It's a mess in here.”

 

The two boyfriends are on their feet at once, Porthos quite ashamed to have forgotten about his belongings. Mati holds on to Aramis' hand as they make their way upstairs, Porthos following dutifully.

 

“It's Papá's room,” Mati tells him once his father has opened a random door in the hallway and they're all inside the warm bedroom.

 

“Thank you, you're a great guide.” Aramis rewards him with yet another kiss, will never be tired how having his son close as he gathers him in his arms.

 

“Where is Porfos sleeping?”

 

The adults look at each other above the little head because it had seemed obvious to everyone. His parents haven't voiced any disapproval . Aramis goes to sit on the bed, arranges Mati on his lap and motions for Porthos to sit next to him.

 

“Do you remember what I told you about Porthos last night?”

 

“That he's coming?”

 

“Yes. And...?”

 

Mati concentrates hard to recall any other information. He's clearly clueless, gazing both at his father and Porthos, waiting for help.

 

“Porthos is my boyfriend,” Aramis supplies. “And I love him very much. And when two adults love each other a lot, they can sleep in the same bed.”

 

“Like grandpa and grandma?”

 

“Exactly like grandpa and grandma.”

 

That settles it for Mati who nods, rests his head on Aramis' chest and falls silent. They can only hear his quiet breathing for a short while. Porthos feels like an intruder because Aramis may want to spend time alone with his son. They never quite talked about how they would handle things once in Spain.

 

Then Aramis grabs Porthos' hand, lets him know that he's good being surrounded by them both. So Porthos relaxes, smiles back at his boyfriend, doesn't say a word either until Anne calls from somewhere in the corridor.

 

“Mati, come put on a warmer sweater!”

 

He jumps down the bed, specifies that he _will_ be back and dashes out of the room.

 

The second he is out of sight, Aramis shifts, hugs Porthos with all his might. They're still not talking, drawing comfort from being alone for a short moment. Aramis is clutching on to Porthos' clothes, his head on his shoulder, his hot breath against the side of Porthos' neck.

 

“I'm sorry,” he eventually says.

 

“What for?”

 

“I kind of ignored you downstairs. I wasn't a good host.”

 

“I don't believe you are the host in this house, Aramis. Your parents were exceptional and Anne was really friendly. That's more than enough. And believe me, you had the most valid excuse to act like you did. He's great. Everybody's been very nice.”

 

“You're worth it. They'll all love you by the time we leave. Nevertheless. It'll take some adjustement to get used to having you both around in the same place. I'll be more careful.”

 

So wrapped up that he was in reuniting with Mati, Aramis had almost not said a word to his boyfriend downstairs. He never once inquired about how he was feeling.

 

“I never saw you like this,” Porthos remarks. “So...over the moon. Like the entire world would crash down and you wouldn't pay any attention to it if Mati was safe with you. It was rather...sweet to witness.”

 

“You're the best, Porthos. I'm being serious, here. You've done and accepted so much for me and you're handling it all amazingly well.”

 

“It must run in the family. You all make people feel at home.”

 

Aramis beams up at him and goes for a long loving kiss full of gratitude. He presses so close to Porthos, would probably crawl onto his lap and never let go if they were sure they would not be interrupted. Porthos' hands are on his waist, firm and safe.

 

Lost in themselves, they fail to hear the door opening wider as Mati coming back. He doesn't make a sound, only stares until Anne appears behind him and gasps loudly, more with embarassment than anything else.

 

“It's okay, Mamá,” Mati assures her, looking up at her while Aramis and Porthos stand up hastily and put some distance between them. “Papá says they can sleep together and kiss because he loves him.”

 

Anne laughs then, catches the honest admission and looks pointedly at Aramis who knows they'll have to have a lenghty conversation at one point during their stay. Not that their love was something they're hiding, but still. She wants to know more.

 

“Can they, now? You know, Mati, they've had a long day, flying from Paris. I'm sure they'll want to rest for a few.”

 

Her hand is on his shoulder, stirring him out of the room gently. Mati's face falls down at the idea that he'll be separated from his father so soon after his arrival.

 

“I'll tell you what,” Aramis decides, taking off his watch and kneeling in front of his son. “When the short hand is here and we're not downstairs already, you can come and wake us up. Okay?”

 

Mati grabs the watch, holds on to it and nods.

 

“Okay.”

 

Once they are alone again and the door is closed, Aramis lies down on the bed which sinks underneath both of their weights. Porthos groans in appreciation, kicks off his shoes and cuddles his boyfriend.

 

“He's very energetic.”

 

“He's always hyper the first days,” Aramis agrees, resting his head on Porthos' chest, hooks one leg with Porthos' and sighs. “And then we'll have to leave again.”

 

“Hey. Don't think about this. You're here and he's here, too. Focus on the positive and don't think about the rest.” Porthos clutches his arm, rubs Aramis' back softly, feels him relax and stretch by his side, warm and appreciative.

 

“You're right. Thank you.”

 

“Aramis?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“You're amazing. You're so brave and strong. I love you.”

 

Aramis' eyes shine up at the compliments, he hugs Porthos' waist.

 

“It's going to be the best Christmas ever.”

 


	6. Winter (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Christmas!!

It's night now and Porthos is alone with Aramis' parents after dinner. His boyfriend and Anne have gone upstairs to put Mati to bed. Two dogs have come out of nowhere to be fed and are now sleeping by the fireplace. Dinner was good and filling and the easy questions from his hosts keep Porthos from dozing off.

 

They are being more amicable than the first time they met, asking more questions. Especially about how he came into having a gym of his own and about the sports he likes. This topic is rather popular is this household, as he soon learns that Aramis' older sisters were a lot into swimming when they were younger. Never as good as Aramis was with fencing, but they still achieved remarkable performances.

 

So for Porthos, it sounds almost ridiculous to simply state that he's been playing football for years since it was the easiest and cheapest activity when he was a kid. He never played in a club, only with friends. The orphanage isn't mentioned because he feels like it would dampen the holiday spirit and he doesn't want pity or sadness from Aramis' parents.

 

That's why Porthos isn't too keen on explaining how he managed to buy a gym at his age. He doesn't want to talk about his so-called father. Instead, he redirects their attention to the rows of pictures on the mantelpiece, points at one with small children on it.

 

“How old was Aramis then?” he asks, then grabs the frame that Carmen hands him. Aramis is smiling so widely, surrounded by his sisters, sun on their faces and all wearing swimsuits.

 

“Six, I'd say. They've always loved the ocean. It would take us much coaxing to drag them all back to the car.”

 

Another memory Porthos cannot relate to. He didn't see the sea or the ocean until he was adopted and Tréville took him to Normandy after discovering that his new charge had hardly ever left the capital city.

 

On the picture, Aramis looks so much like Mati, it's striking. Porthos is transfixed by it and his host notices as she smiles kindly at him.

 

“I know,” she agrees. “ There's no mistaking.”

 

There's much more that she would like to say, to thank Porthos for. Because he's one of the few persons who can make her son shine and radiate with happiness. It's been so rare for it to come from persons outside of his family or close friends. She's so thankful, but she doesn't want to appear emotional or overprotective. So she keeps on smiling.

 

“Why don't you try this,” Aramis' father suggests, holding a glass for Porthos who accepts it gladly. It's filled with a thick golden liquid. It has a sweet smell, even though Porthos can feel the alcohol going to his head with only that quick sniff. It burns his throat as he takes a big swallow. Porthos chokes a little, makes Aramis' father chuckle.

 

“That's quite strong. Do you make this?” The bottle on the coffee table is a bit dusty and the label on it looks handmade.

 

“We do. We sell it, too.”

 

“Aramis said you had fruit trees but I assumed you sold them as such. That's much better,” he decides, definitely impressed. “Very tasty.”

Aramis' father pours him more and Porthos can feel it clouding his head already.

 

“We make jams, too. And more. I'm sure Aramis will be happy to give you a tour of the estate tomorrow.”

 

That's when his boyfriend decides to come down the stairs, followed by Anne with whom he was talking. They quickly revert to French and drop the current discussion as soon as they have more company.

 

Aramis sits close to Porthos. It would almost resemble a snuggle and he doesn't care because it's late and he's tired. Nevertheless, he accepts the glass of brandy. It doesn't take long for a dog to notice someone new has arrived and to jump on the couch, its head on Aramis' lap.

 

“Is the lullaby taking its hold on you, too?” Anne teases after Aramis has yawned. He rubs his eyes, nods lazily.

 

“You should go to bed,” his mother suggests. “It's been a long day.”

 

The clock indicates that it's actually close to midnight. Time has flown by and Mati was too excited to settle down properly after dinner, in spite of all the attempts to play quietly, to read stories or to watch a movie.

 

There was so much to talk about, all the Christmas preparations and the fact that he was surrounded by his entire family. He was absolutely not willing to see the day end and he put up quite a fight when Aramis hauled him up upstairs to the bedroom he shares with his mother.

 

It was a new side of Aramis that Porthos was given to observe: him as a parent. Something he didn't know. Aramis authoritative and intransigent yet caring. He was not going to let the child get away with his whims. In the end, Mati was exhausted despite the shouts and the shrills and the crocodile tears and he couldn't resist more once he was nicely tucked in.

 

Aramis nods again in agreement with his mother. Besides, a few sips of the alcohol have made him sleepier. He doesn't even care about his pjs after he comes back from brushing his teeth in the bathroom. He simply finds some clean underwear to put on. The sight of Porthos half-naked and stretching his arms in their bedroom hardly makes him blink or catch his breath. Aramis yawns again.

 

There are many pictures and trophies on the shelves of a bedroom which still looks like it could be occupied by a teenager. Most of them are taking up an entire wall. Porthos inspects them all, leans against Aramis' warm hand on the small of his back, rubbing his skin.

 

“I told you. I _was_ talented.”

 

“I never doubted it. How old were you when you started?”

 

Aramis brushes a kiss to Porthos' shoulder, wraps one arm around his waist.

 

“Five, I think. Or six. I don't remember. We went to the re-enactement of a knight tournament and I remember being captivated by the swords and all the stunts. My mom could tell you how much begging I did so they would find me a club to join. They thought it would pass quickly. They were wrong.”

 

“And you never grew tired of it?”

 

“Nope. Never. I love it. And I also love being in bed with you so that's where I'm going,” Aramis adds, because it's difficult to remain standing. The flight, his nervosity, the intensity of the reunion and of Porthos meeting Mati, it all comes crashing down now that it's quiet in the night.

 

His hand is strong on Porthos' hip, clutching and steering him towards the comfort of bed sheets and pillows.

 

“Or do I have to wrestle you into bed as well?”

 

Porthos gives a little laugh, but it does get him to look away from the pictures and to his boyfriend. Aramis is a picture of bliss, buried under layers of exhaustion.

 

“ _I_ wouldn't mind that.”

 

Aramis groans with contentment once they are cuddling under the duvet and Porthos' warm body is a safe anchor. He drops his head on Porthos' chest, lets his fingers roam on the naked flesh of his stomach. Porthos' hand is familiar in his hair, on the back of his neck, on his back. It makes Aramis close his eyes and smile.

 

“I'm glad you're here.”

 

It's a slur and when Porthos tells him that so he is, there's no answer. Nothing but long and even breathing and the sounds of his boyfriend sleeping peacefully help Porthos find his own rest.

 

Long hours later, Aramis is awoken by small noises in the corridor, someone running on the wooden floor and the bedroom door creaking open. Then Anne's voice is all he can hear, even if it's a whisper.

 

“ _Mati, no! They're sleeping!”_

 

The door shuts close, perhaps a little louder than she intended but it's not enough to cover the fuss Mati is starting to make.

 

“ _But I want Papá!”_

 

“ _Well, he's not alone in here and you don't want to wake Porthos up.”_

 

“ _But Pap_ _á_ _!”_ It's almost a wail, before Anne takes him in her arms as he refuses to budge from his spot in front of Aramis' door. He'll wake up the entire household if she doesn't carry him downstairs. He still doesn't go easily, flails his arms around, kicks his legs. He hasn't been awake for five minutes that his lips are already quivering with impending cries.

 

“ _Mati, hush! It's Christmas Eve and you're not starting the day with a tantrum. Let's go eat breakfast.”_

 

Aramis groans as the complaints grow fainter. He rubs his nose in the pillow, tries to keep his eyes tightly shut, but sleep is slipping away. Porthos stretches next to him, turns on his side so he's facing Aramis. One of his hands gropes until he finds some hot flesh to hold on to. Aramis comes easily.

 

“Sorry about that. Mati's up.”

 

Porthos' mutter is inaudible, lips lost in his boyfriend's curls.

 

“Welcome to the not-so-amazing aspects of parenthood.”

 

How he can form coherent sentences seconds after waking up, Porthos has no clue. It's good enough that he can listen and understand the words. Aramis' arm clutches his chest, desperate to hang on to the last remnants of quiet and alone time they can have.

 

“I'll go with them. You can stay here and sleep.”

 

Before Aramis can attempt to sit up in bed, Porthos has shoved him back on the mattress and silenced him with a kiss. He hears no further protest for the long moment they stay like this, fingers creeping up Porthos' back until they reach his neck and thread there. He's almost pinning Aramis to the bed, resting his weight on him. Aramis sighs with satisfaction.

 

“Good morning,” he whispers, licking Porthos' lip and feeling it stretch into a smile.

 

“I just want to keep you for myself for a while.”

 

Aramis doesn't resist the assault of kisses, the hot hands brushing his sides, grabbing skin, rubbing. Everything stops too quickly, though, before it can get too heated: when Aramis hooks one leg up. Porthos finds incredible self-control to pull himself away.

 

“Perhaps not _that_ in your parents' house.”

 

“You say that today, but in a couple of days I bet it'll be different.”

 

His fingers are tickling Porthos' chest, and there's no mistaking the look in his eyes. Aramis is a menace.

 

There's no particular dresscode for breakfast as Aramis simply puts on a tee-shirt and pajama bottoms. Porthos follows suits, grabs a sweatshirt and old track pants. It turns out that Mati woke not only them but also his grandparents. Aramis' mother is already setting up the table in the kitchen and her greetings are drown out by Mati's enthusiastic squeals.

 

Porthos has decided that any time he gets to witness Aramis and his son, he finds them more adorable than he could have imagined. Aramis is almost dragged down by the sheer strength of the little arms around his neck and his cheek is smeared with milk once he looks up at his boyfriend.

 

“Hello, Porfos!” There's no trace of the obvious discomfort he was in minutes earlier. Nobody comments on it, not even Anne as she smiles sheepishly at Aramis after he's kissed her cheek. Porthos waves her apology away. She did tell him he wouldn't rest a lot during his stay.

 

“Sit here!” Mati commands, pointing at the chair opposite him. “We eat cereal!”

 

“Perhaps Porthos wants to eat something else, Mati,” Aramis remarks, watches as Porthos obeys and sits where he's been asked to. His own allocated seat is on Mati's right side.

 

“I'm good with cereal,” Porthos assures him, accepts the bowl and the mug of coffee, the glass of orange juice. To prove his point, he pours himself a large quantity of muesli, so much that some falls on the table. Mati giggles.

 

“Milk now! You, too, Papá!”

 

“Someone woke up excited,” his grandfather remarks, still not happy to have awoken so early in the morning. It may be nine, he would have gladly spent a couple more hours in bed.

 

Nevertheless, everybody do as they're are told and Porthos feels at ease among them all, included in the conversation. There's always someone to inquire if everything is to his taste, if he would like something else to drink, more toasts or jams and clearly, this won't be a Christmas when he will lose weight.

 

“What's the plan for today?” Aramis asks while Mati is busy with his mouthfuls and has lost interest in the adults' discussion. “Cooking, right?”

 

“I have to go into town before. Porthos is allergic to seafood and I...”

 

“Please, don't trouble yourself for me!” He chokes on his coffee as he says so, eager to reassure her that it's fine if he doesn't eat the entire meal. Her strict look makes him give up arguing further. Aramis shakes his head lightly, letting him know that it's useless and she'll do what she has in mind anyway.

 

“Nonsense. You'll have a great meal, like all of us. And while I'm gone, I thought you could show Porthos around.” She's looking at Aramis as she says this and he nods, agrees.

 

“I come, too!”

 

“Perhaps Papá wants to take Porthos alone,” Anne ventures.

 

Porthos has already understood that whatever Aramis wants to do during the day, Mati will tag along. He's resigned himself to it. It's more amusing than anything else. So he smiles at Anne.

 

“Two guides are better than one.”

* * *

 

 

Aramis sneaks into the bathroom while Porthos is having his shower and Mati is getting dressed. Porthos is adapting so well to the new situation, so willing to share him with his son and clearly, he needs to be rewarded for it.

 

Porthos' body is wet but Aramis doesn't mind as he wraps him arms around his middle, rests his chin against Porthos' back.

 

“You're not making it easy,” Porthos groans out, stops Aramis short from tugging at the towel around his waist. There's a pout on Aramis' face when he turns around. Porthos is quick to wipe it away, kissing Aramis until he's backed against the bathroom door.

 

“You shouldn't have left the door open.”

 

“I couldn't figure out the lock.” Porthos' teeth rake against the side of Aramis' neck, in complete opposition with his apparent intention to not fool around in his hosts' house. Aramis sighs out, hands firmly on Porthos' ass, pushing him closer.

 

“You couldn't or you didn't want to?”

 

There's no resistance on Porthos' side as fingers hook and pull the towel down to the floor. Hot mouth on hot mouth, kisses steamier than the atmosphere in the room. Porthos moans and he's thankful for Aramis' tongue in his mouth, muffling the inappropriate sounds he makes. Fingers wrap around his cock, in spite of the awkwardness of the setting and the fact that they really shouldn't be acting like that.

 

Aramis moans back, stroking him. It's always a wonder, such an incredible pleasure to be able to hold Porthos in his grip, full and big and pulsing. So turned on as Porthos drops his head against the doorframe, buries his face in Aramis' hair, bites on a handful of curls and Aramis yelps a little in surprise.

 

He's panting a little, hard in his jeans but no intention of doing anything about it. Porthos deserve all his attention and they may run out of time soon.

 

“Don't stop,” he whispers when Porthos pulls back, afraid that his move has scared Aramis. It didn't. He goes back for more, finds it an efficient way to shut up.

 

He can feel waves and waves of pleasure flooding his body and his brain, his heart beating fast, almost matching the rhythm of Aramis' fingers gliding and clutching his cock, thumb brushing its tip, another hand cluthing his ass tightly. Exploring fingers roaming everywhere.

 

“Your clothes,” Porthos rasps out, because he knows he will come soon, Aramis is too talented. There's one low whimper as he suddenly releases Porthos and goes to his kness. Then scorching hot lips are licking Porthos, lapping and sucking. Fast and determined.

 

Porthos hits the door with the back of his hand as he comes, rests his forehead against the door, lets his body spasms and kisses the life out of Aramis once he's back at eye-level. There's still come in his mouth and Porthos decides it's even better as he licks around it.

 

“Early Christmas present?” he teases, delighted by the tinkle in Aramis' eyes. He's out of breath, too, but shies away from Porthos' touch, promises him that they will find more time alone later.

 

Invigorated by their intimacy, Porthos is nonetheless relieved he doesn't have to spend time with his boyfriend's parents for now. He's rather embarassed. On the other hand, Mati is a good distraction, all bundled up in his coat, his scarf, his hat.

 

Aramis' family's estate is bigger than what Porthos expected. He's being shown the stables, the buidling where they make their goods, the long rows of trees which seem to go on for miles. There's no doubt that it must look even more beautiful in the spring when they're blooming and in summer with lots of fruit hanging from the branches.

 

Being with his father is the best activity Mati could be doing, no matter what they are actually doing. They started out holding hands, the little boy determined to stay as close as possible. After a while, though, it seemed better to run around, to sprint back to the adults. Porthos must admit it's fun to watch. He's the one holding Aramis' hand by the end of their walk.

 

“Make me jump?” Mati asks, coming out of nowhere, flushed cheeks, wide grin and misty breath.

 

“You may be a bit too big for me to throw you in the air.”

 

“Not like that!” Mati shakes his head, baffled by his father's incomprehension. His explanation doesn't require more words as he pulls Porthos' hand away from where it's holding Aramis'. Mati grabs both of them, settles between his father and his boyfriend. “Like _this_!”

 

He swings his little arms, hops and then goes into fits of giggles once the two men obey him. They resume walking, their pace often interrupted as they make him jump or _fly_ as Mati says. His fingers are clutching Porthos' hand strongly, trusting and confident that he won't be let down. It's overwhelming how easy everything is between them.

 

There are no more tantrums during the day, Mati happy to get everyone's attention, happy to help with the cooking, to play with the dogs, to sit and listen as long as Aramis is by his side. He's also enlisted to help in the kitchen, only to eventually sit down at the table with Porthos because it wouldn't do for a guest to help with the preparation.

 

Watching Aramis and his mother cook side by side is a sight to behold, how they tease and criticize one another, how Anne so often sides with Carmen. How offended Aramis seems by it all. But colouring can become rather boring for the little boy by his side and after all, there's a new lap to climb onto. Porthos hardly gets a say in the matter and within seconds, tiny feet are kicking against his shins.

 

Porthos is at a loss of both words and how to act. Putting one arm around the tiny waist to keep him secure against him seems to be the best course of action. Anne is the first to notice, grinning adorably. She hits Aramis' arm with her wooden spatula to have his attention.

 

“What is it?” He spins around fast, forgets what ever bad word he wanted to call her because there are tears in his eyes at the wonderful scene at the table: his clueless boyfriend, looking at him for guidance and Mati, oblivious to what he just did, tongue sticking out as he draws.

 

Ustensils clatter on the counter when Aramis reaches for his phone, desperate to record the precious moment on pictures. It wouldn't be complete without a hug that he gives to the both of them, Mati squirming a little and Porthos leaning against him, gathering courage from the soft “I love you.”

 

The relative quiet is broken in the afternoon after Aramis' sister Ali joins them. She is as euphoric as the rest of the family to meet Porthos, gives him a giant hug for such a slim person and has the common sense to wait until Mati is napping to make dirty jokes with her brother. Porthos quickly decides that he likes her, too. It's proving intricate to dislike anyone related to Aramis. He especially enjoys how she teases Aramis, how she can make him blush and look so outraged. He loves how his boyfriend manages to get a hold on her and to wrestle her to the couch, until their father comes in the living room and asks them to please, keep it down or Mati will be up far too soon. And for everyone's sanity, this should never happen.

* * *

 

It's been a long time since Porthos has been to church. His father has never forced him to go and with the orphanage, it wasn't the top priority. The only time of the year he goes to mass may well be for Christmas. The church close to Aramis' family's estate is small, but warm. There are colourful frescos on the high walls, a myriad of lights and a nice Nativity Scene that Mati describes with great details, indicating all the important characters. He has books to keep him occupied during the service, nestled between his parents in the pew.

 

Porthos is being introduced to everyone in attendance, most of them close friends or acquaintances. Aramis announces loud and clear to most of them that Porthos is his boyfriend and no one reacts to it. And if they do, they are clever enough not to do it in public. After all, Aramis first showed up with someone else's fiancée, pregnant with his child and no intention to marry her whatsoever. Hardly anything could surprise the parish when it comes to him. And he doesn't care. At all. Not for Christmas.

 

He's happy with his boys, leaning against Porthos to explain some aspects of the mass, leaning over to read from the same hymn books. The sonds are beautiful, penetrating and the entire time Porthos is inside the church, he can understand what makes this night special. He even finds himself trying to sing along at one point. It's only natural to give a quick silent “thank you” when they are done and leaving the church.

 

Mati is passed out in Aramis' arms, head bobbing on his shoulder. He doesn't even wake up as his parents put him to bed.

 

Everybody is ready to catch some rest, the house is silent and Porthos is already in bed when Aramis joins him in their bedroom. He may be as tired as the others, he's smiling mischievously nonetheless.

 

“Do you want to play Santa Claus with me?” It's barely a whisper, but Porthos agrees to it at once because it's something he's never done before. Aramis looks delighted to have help and keeps on saying that they have to be really quiet, which would be achieved more easily if he would stop talking altogether.

 

By the time they are done, the foot of the Christmas tree is hidden behind dozens of wrapped gifts, tiny ones, huge ones, so many boxes and odd shapes that Porthos wonders how many items are in there.

 

“This one's for you,” Aramis explains as they sit down in the couch after a job well done. He's almost sprawled on Porthos' lap, his legs propped on the coffee table, Porthos' arm secure around his shoulders. “And that one, too.” He shows him different presents which would spark Porthos' curiosity if it wasn't for the surprise that he would get more than one. He didn't expect more.

 

“From you?”

 

“Nope. I'll give you mine when we are truly alone.”

 

“It seems that we had the same idea then.”

 

Aramis' smile turns into a yawn. He feels at peace with the world after church, and being in the arms of his boyfriend is perfect. He has no desire to move and go to bed. He would probably be fine sleeping in the living room. Porthos' thumb rubs the bare skin of his shoulder after he's shoved Aramis' sleeve up.

 

“I never did that, you know,” Porthos admits after a while. Aramis had assumed as much, which is why he suggested Porthos help him.

 

“Why do you do, then? When you're with Athos?”

 

“Well, I'm only with his family for Christmas Day.”

 

“In the country? For a day?”

 

“No. His parents live in a small village close to Versailles. That's where they spend the holidays. The firt time I went, it was with Tréville, right after he took me in. He's a good friend of the family. We eat lunch, open a couple of presents and I'm usually gone the next day. It's enough.”

 

Aramis does look a bit saddened since he is used to long celebrations, surrounded by his entire family. Some part of Porthos' life are so unfair and Aramis resents how he cannot change most of them.

 

“Hey, it's fine, you know,” Porthos calms him because Aramis has reached for his hand and holds it with mighty strength, conveys love and support. “Because then, I spend some time with Flea and Charon. They're each other family, don't have anybody else. We go to the orphanage, say hi to the staff as some of them were those who took care of us when we were younger. We play with the kids there.”

 

At this, Aramis becomes truly horrified.

 

“You mean I'm making you miss this? You should have told me! I feel horrible.” He shakes his head, worry in his eyes, hardly able to look Porthos in the eye. He never inquired further when his boyfriend told him Tréville would be unavailable and he could come to Spain.

 

“It's all right, Aramis,” Porthos reassures him. “It's never been an obligation. I'll go when we come back and they'll be as happy. I swear.”

 

Nevertheless, Aramis snuggles even closer, shifts his legs so they are propped up on Porthos' lap. One of his feet pokes the dog lying next to Porthos in the muzzle and it whines. Porthos accepts the short kisses peppered on his face.

 

“And you said you didn't know how to handle children. It seems to me that you're underestimating yourself.”

 

“For a couple of hours, I'm good. At the orphanage, I'm only there to entertain them and make them feel like they matter to people. That's the most important. Nobody should feel useless, especially not for Christmas. But Mati is different. It's definitely not the same and that's what scares me a little.”

 

“Well, you're dealing with him like a pro.”

 

They end up dozing off on the couch, a tangled mess until Aramis' mother comes down to investigate why there is still light downstairs. She cannot bring herself to wake them up, merely because Aramis grip on his boyfriend's shoulder is so strong that she wouldn't manage to budge him.

 

The blanket she put on them both so they would stay warm slides down to the floor when they are awoken by excited shouts and people hurtling down the stairs. It's morning and Porthos' entire body screams in pain because the position they were in was absolutely not comfortable. Mati is on them almost at once before his mother can tell him to _not_ jump on the men.

 

Aramis looks disorientated, confused as to where he is and why Mati is suddenly in his arms. And why the light is so bright, and why his arm is paralyzed. This he will understand once he realizes Porthos slept on it the entire night.

 

“ _It's Christmas, Papá!”_

 

It's too loud, but he still hugs Mati back, welcomes the giggles in his neck and feels Porthos move on the couch, sitting correctly. They're all in their pjs and Porthos is thankful for the coffee supplied for them instantly. He has only seen Athos' nephews open their presents a couple of time so for him, it's most of the time a quick business.

 

Not with Mati. Aramis has to hold him back so he won't open gifts which aren't meant for him. He does let him open those intended for him, and Mati couldn't be happier to be Aramis' assistant.

 

Porthos lets them have their moment as a family, Anne and Aramis sitting on the floor with Mati throwing wrapping paper everywhere and examining each new toy, book, DVD or video game. By the time Porthos has opened his own presents, has thanked Aramis' parents and even Anne for their generosity, Aramis is already busy putting batteries in some new robot and finding out how exactly it works.

 

Mati is on a perpetual high during the day, stimulated by all the novelty and how amazing Santa is for bringing so many things. Porthos and his aunt are enlisted to play once his parents need a break. Aramis disappears somewhere outside and Porthos knows he's gone smoking since he refuses to do so in front of Mati.

 

Ali is pleased to play with the kitchen set her nephew got as they start to make pretend pancakes. Porthos has to fetch ingredients from the pretend fridge, is scolded by the small boy because he left the door open. By the end of the afternoon, the living room is a mess, he cannot focus on anything because there are too many discussions. He loves everything about this family. The unusual relationships, the single sister who has no time to lose talking about her love life and prefers to travel the world instead, without any burden to drag.

 

Mati is all but yelling on top of everyone else in spite of Aramis asking him to please, tone it down and yes we'll buy some more batteries for your other car but not today. Everything's closed. And yes, you can take those out of the dinosaur but then this one won't function. And here, why don't you ask Mamá to read you this new book you just got?

 

This new activity allows them all to relax a little as Mati settles down in an armchair with his mother and listens intently. Anything so he won't have to go take a nap. Aramis' sister and her father are playing chess, a game that Porthos never took to. Aramis is still sipping on a glass of wine, and Porthos himself feels a little tipsy so he keeps on going for more chocolates to soak it all up.

 

Aramis is flipping through the art book his parents gave him, amongst so many other wonderful presents he was a bit ashamed to not have brought more. But then again, a suitcase can only contain that much.

 

Porthos has stolen to the kitchen to help Aramis' mother clean up some of the mess. It will keep him from falling asleep on the couch again. Besides, he wants to be useful. He _insists_ , he keeps on repeating whenever she demands that he returns to the others. She has many stories to tell him about Aramis as a child so that's a nice distraction from dishes.

 

The pictures in his book are marvellous, Aramis decides once he's done looking at them all. He can't be bothered to read the actual text on the pages. He'll have time later. For now, he gazes at Mati, sitting on Anne's lap, fingers on the book, asking for more information about the story, rubbing his eyes once in a while. Anne's hair is on his face and he keeps on pushing it back. Aramis wishes the armchair would be larger so he could join them.

 

Anne's phone chimes in before she can reach the end of the tale. The frown on her face is enough for Aramis to understand who's calling her.

 

“ _Hi, Mam_ _á_ _. Merry Christmas... Grandma and grandpa want to talk to you, Mati.”_ She's smiling at her son, in spite of how she looks at Aramis staring at her, uneasy and both waiting for the impending disapproval.

 

Mati is enthusiastic on the phone, lists everything that Santa brought him, tells his grandparents what he did during the day. Of course, he mentions that his father is here, as if they could doubt it. And of course, he goes on with the other persons with him in the house.

 

“ _Porfos is here, too!”_ Aramis cringes even though they should have expected it. There's a pause, a question on the other side of the line. _“He's Pap_ _á_ _'s boyfriend!_ ” Another pause and Mati hands the phone back to his mother. _“Grandma wants to talk to you.”_

 

Anne has no desire to have this conversation with an audience as she asks Mati to hop down so she can stand up.

 

“ _Yes... I don't see how that's any of your business... He's not accountable to you... He can do whatever he wants.... I'm the only one who has the right to have a problem with it. And I don't.”_ Anne takes a pause between each sentence. Aramis can only assume that she is trying to talk above the multiple protests that her mother must be making. He's sorry for her.

 

His sister and their father have stopped talking and playing while Anne paces the room, tries to keep her voice even and fails. She loves her parents but their nasty habits of thinking she is still a child who needs protection is becoming annoying.

 

“ _Porthos is nice and Mati likes him. I don't see what's the problem. You don't even know Porthos.... Well, I'll say it again: Porthos! He's Aramis' boyfriend and he's here to stay!”_

 

Her shout baffles her audience, her assumption of their relationship quite on point, so obvious that nobody would think to state otherwise. If she had less self-control, Anne would have probably stomped her foot as well. Instead, she apologizes quickly, hurries out of the living room and goes outside.

 

“ _This man is making you look ridiculous, Anne.”_

 

“ _How come?”_

 

“ _First he steers you away from that very fulfilling life and now he parades around with another man? When will you realize that he's not good for you?”_

 

“ _Aramis is his own person and you don't even know him. How could you? You refuse to meet him!”_

 

“ _I have good reasons.”_

 

“ _You have ridiculous reasons, mother. You're too stuck-up to see how beneficial it would be for Mati if you tried to welcome his father. Because that's what he is. He's the father of your grandson and you've missing out on having us for Christmas because of your stupid pride!”_

 

Anne can hear her father asking her to calm down: she must be on speaker. She's seething though, unable to understand why her parents would stand their stupid ground for so long.

 

“ _You shouldn't scream like that on Christmas, then, Anne.”_

 

“ _You're the one who started it.”_

 

“ _I can't see how beneficial it can be for your son to see his father be with another man.”_

 

“ _He's four! Mati doesn't care. All he cares about is that Aramis loves Porthos and that's enough for a child.”_

 

She hears a scoff as a reply. She would yell louder except that the front door opens behind her. She breathes loudly, thanks Aramis who puts her coat on her shoulders. Caught up in her anger, she failed to notice she was shivering in the cold.

 

“ _Aramis can be with whoever he chooses to be,”_ she declares, looking straight at him, finding more courage in his smile. _“I love him and respect him and I'm happy for him.”_

 

“ _It's things like that which will make you stay alone for your entire life.”_

 

Anne has heard enough, cannot cope with it all. Aramis' hand on her shoulder is comforting and she leans against the touch, closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

 

“ _I think it's better if I hang up now. Say bye to Papá.”_

 

She hangs up on whatever her mother might have wanted to add. It's frustrating and these fights exhaust her, especially after the long day they've had. It could have been perfect if this phone call hadn't happened. There are angry tears in her eyes that she refuses to let out. Instead, she balls her fists, closes her eyes and attempts to breathe normally.

 

Aramis' presence in front of her makes her feel safe and it's where she belongs: with him, with his understanding family. She sinks against his chest, gathers attention and ease through the strong arms holding her in his embrace.

 

“ _We should have told Mati not to...”_

 

“ _No. It's not his fault. It's not yours either. It's nobody's fault but my parents',”_ Anne sobs a little, lets him rock her a little, sushing her like he would do with their son.

 

The racket and Anne's shouts have brought Porthos and Carmen back with the others.

 

“Her parents called,” her husband explains without her having to ask anything.

 

“Mamá's upset,” Mati supplies from his position at the window where he can spy on his parents, now silent in the courtyard.

 

They all know better than to talk badly of Anne's parents even though they all disapprove of the rude behaviour they're having. Porthos glances quickly outside to where Mati is pointing and he tries, he _tries_ to look away. But Anne is buried so deep in his boyfriend's arms, hands holding on tightly to his coat and Aramis rubbing her back.

 

She's nodding and he can see Aramis' lips moving with words he cannot make out. Her hair is on his face and Porthos swallows thickly as Aramis kisses the top of her head sweetly. He's aware of how intricate their relationship is, how difficult it can be for outsiders to understand, two persons who love each other but not in a romantic way, and yet have a child together. Porthos has noticed the kisses on cheeks, the hugs and hands on a shoulder, on the small of a back. Little, perhaps insignificant gestures so natural for them they don't even realize they are doing them.

 

For Porthos, though, it's important and although he's attempting to make sense of it all quietly, it's not always easy. Especially not when they appear to be so close as Aramis comforts his friend.

 

The matter is dropped once Aramis and Anne come back inside, nobody inquiring about what happened. Anne simply picks up Mati, hugs him strongly and Aramis puts his arms around them both until the child decides that he's had enough love for the evening.

* * *

 

“Did it live up to your expectations?” Aramis asks Porthos after everybody has retired to their respective bedrooms for the night. Mati fell asleep at the dinner table, exhausted by all the Christmas hype and knowing that his cousins will arrive in the morning.

 

“I have a headache,” Porthos confesses. Too much food, too much alcohol, too much happiness and then this creeping feeling shamefully twisting his heart. Aramis settles behind him on the bed, brushes his lips to Porthos' bare shoulder before starting to give him a relaxing massage. His boyfriend groans with contentment, closes his eyes.

 

They're quiet until Aramis is done and simply rests his hands on Porthos' bare back, hot and soft palms radiating on his skin.

 

“Anne was pretty shaken earlier,” Porthos ventures because he refuses to go to bed with this on his mind.

 

“Her parents seem lovely, from what Mati tells, but they can be awful people.”

 

“She's lucky to have you.” The words are true but Aramis definitely catches the hesitant tone used by his boyfriend. Carefully, Aramis shifts on the bed so he's facing Porthos.

 

“Something wrong, Porthos?” From the way he says it, quiet and casual, Porthos knows he can speak his mind without fear of upsetting Aramis, even though Porthos sure is. A little.

 

“Did you ever...I know you said you never were together but...did you try?”

 

“Yes. At the very beginning, after she told me she was pregnant and everybody was cursing me and she had broken her engagement. We had no idea where it would lead us, but yes. We tried to date. It didn't work out. At all. There was so much more on our minds, so many things being re-arranged and our lives literally taking on a different direction than what we intended.”

 

“It's just that...you are really close.”

 

Aramis grabs Porthos' hand, stops him from picking at his nails. Porthos' head is down as if he refuses to look his boyfriend in the eye.

 

“This I won't deny. We are. And I'm aware it's disconcerting. For a time it was only us against the rest of the world and we couldn't help but grow close. I love her,” he admits, which makes Porthos look up at last. “I love her like a wonderful and amazing woman who has had to endure so much and faces every challenge with remarkable talent. I love her like an incredible friend and the main support in my life.”

 

“But I will never, ever love her like I love you. Because when I see you, I have butterflies in my stomach. Actual ones, it would seem ridiculous. And yet I do. You make me feel things I've never felt before, Porthos. You're the best I could ask for and I love you with all my heart.”

 

Porthos leans against the hand on his cheek, lets the words find their way to his heart and calm his churning guts. Everything that has just been said he already knew. It's still good to hear it again.

 

“I've known her for what? Almost ten years? We're comfortable around each other because we have to, and we want to. It's much better for Mati than if we hated one another. Granted, I do believe it would be easier if we were an actual couple.” Aramis shrugs then. “The dates we went on were complete disasters, you wouldn't imagine. It's better like that.”

 

“I've known you for less than a year, Porthos and honestly, sometimes, I have difficulties looking back at my life in Paris before I met Athos and so you. It sounds dull and depressing and I want nothing less than to spend every waking moment with you because you make me happy, you make me feel like I belong somewhere, like I am not a failure and I don't ruin everything.”

 

Aramis is a bit out of breath when he's done with his speech. He's just poured his heart out to his boyfriend who is looking at him with awe. A burning kiss seems to be the best answer to this profession of love and reassurance.

 

If he thought about it, Porthos would assure him that Aramis isn't a failure at all, that he's done so much in his studies, that he's a talented fencer and that his son is growing up to be a remarkable boy, spoiled yet well-behaved. Aramis is the luckiest man on Earth, apart from Porthos himself maybe.

 

“I was jealous downstairs, when I saw you together outside,” Porthos whispers, cannot help the shame which follows.

 

“You have no reason, too.”

 

He's aware but still, it's hard to ignore the emotion when it is so strong and overpowering. Porthos would never dream of making Aramis change his behaviour or even choose between Anne and him. It's not who he is, making ultimatums, especially one he is certain he would lose. He has had to adjust to a lot in such little time, he was bound to feel insecure at one point.

 

“You're here with me right now,” Aramis adds, one hand sneaking under the waistband of Porthos's pants, caressing hot skin, finding no underwear. “Everybody else outside of this room cannot come close to how hot and hard _you_ can make me.”

 

To prove his point, he wriggles out of his pjs until he's totally naked on the bed, his toned body on display, one hand stroking Porthos' cock leisurely, making him feel loved and important. Precious.

 

All the tension Porthos puts into their kiss takes their breath away, Aramis gasping for air, arms locked around Porthos' neck after he's discarded his pants to the floor. Aramis is hard only from talking and touching Porthos, eager and desperate to show him how much he matters to him. He coaxes Porthos closer, wraps his legs so tightly around the other's waist his gasps sound too loud in the bedroom.

 

“You have to be quiet,” Porthos warns, strong hand against Aramis' mouth, shutting out any noise he might want to make. Even after he's nodded, the fingers on his lips don't move, press down and Aramis finds actual pleasure in it, in being held down by Porthos, the bulk of his weight on top of him, cocks touching, grinding together. Messy and wild and Porthos' scorching hot tongue dragging along the side of his neck, his shoulder.

 

He bends his head to carry on until he can suck on Aramis' nipples, remains there for so long, hovering above him, relishing in how pretty Aramis is, how he puts everything at his disposal, how compliant he is. How Aramis manages to whimper when Porthos unwraps the legs on his hips, all the while sucking so much that Aramis jerks at the sensation. He does it again, far harder as determined fingers bypass his cock, barely slide along its length and go straight for his hole, push inside without a single warning.

 

Aramis cries out, which makes Porthos still for a second.

 

“Don't stop!” he rasps out after Porthos asks him if it's all right.

 

“Not a sound, then.” Porthos focuses on Aramis' slack face, the sweat shining on his brow, the black hair on the white sheets, how tightly his eyes are shut no matter how often he tries to open them. He wants to look at Porthos, he wants to see how intense he gets whenever he fucks him, how beautiful he is in that moment.

 

Instead, he can hardly concentrate on anything but the fingers moving inside of him, bending and twisting and curling and going so deep that Aramis' breathing itches. There's a hand on his hip, pinning him to the bed while Porthos' mouth is back on his chest, sucks hard, will probably leave a couple of marks when he'll be done with him.

 

Aramis craves it, craves all of it, how powerful and in charge Porthos is. How he groans the moment Aramis' fist closes around his cock, the fingers stopping until they adjust. One thumb brushes the side of Aramis' hip, feather touches in complete opposition with the speed and the vigour of the fingers buried inside of him.

 

“Porthos, I'm....”

 

His boyfriend is quick to pull himself up, never slowing down, but nevertheless silencing the ecstatic shouts which were bound to follow Aramis' orgasm. His body spasms, his strokes never stopping until Porthos also comes, hard, all over his boyfriend's stomach.

 

“That's all yours,” Aramis manages to gasp out after Porthos has reached for his pants to use as a rag. Their kisses are always sweet after having sex. “Never doubt it. I love you.”

 

“I love you, too.”

* * *

 

In an incredible feat, Mati lets everyone sleep in the next morning. Christmas really took its toll on him, draining him of all his energy. None of the adults are complaining, especially not Aramis who gets to cuddle with his boyfriend. He's understood what triggered Porthos' insecurities the previous night, although he isn't certain he could be less affectionate with Anne if he attempted to. Porthos hasn't demanded it of him, and he doubts he ever will, so Aramis decides that it's not worth crushing his brains with the possibility.

 

Besides, right before lunch, his oldest sister arrives with her husband and her two children on tow. More people to entertain and introduce to Porthos. His brother-in-law's French isn't as good as the rest of the family so Aramis falls back into the role of a translator for a few hours. A good distraction. Mati watches with longing his cousins open some more presents and then beams with delight when he discovers that his aunt and uncle brought the few Santa had mistakingly left at their house.

 

The new addition to the family prompts another Christmas lunch, less structured and opulent than the previous day. For the sake of his clothes, Porthos is grateful. They eat the leftovers during which looks more like a brunch than an actual meal. He doesn't mind answering the same questions he's had to hear for days.

 

“And what exactly do you teach in your gym?” Sophia inquires over coffee. “Or are you simply in charge of things?”

 

“Porthos teaches zumba!” Aramis exclaims, recalling perfectly well the day he learned about this, from Athos' mouth and much to Porthos' dismay, back in April. He cannot help but grin like an idiot at his boyfriend who punches his shoulder slightly.

 

“Is that so?” This new piece of information sparks renewed interest in almost everyone.

 

“Among other classes,” Porthos confirms.

 

“I would have never taken you for the dancing type,” Ali thinks out loud, unashamed to check Porthos out in front of her brother. He's one hell of a gorgeous man after all.

 

“He'd impress you,” Aramis says, daring her to contradict him.

 

“How can we know for sure?”

 

It certainly wasn't his intention for the discussion to take this turn, Aramis apologizes while Porthos simply shakes his head. He doesn't mind showing some dancing moves because it means they've all accepted him, feel comfortable joking. _But_ , he wouldn't do so by himself. The girls were fast to decline the offer of a private class, on the pretext that they had no appropriate clothes.

 

That's how Porthos eventually gathers three small and bouncing students in the large room acting as a library. There, he can see where Aramis acquired his taste for literature. Reading isn't the task at hand. He's never had to teach children but once the music is on, it turns out that they are so passionate and delighted to follow his lead, even the two who didn't know him a few hours beforehand.

 

There's nothing graceful in the way Mati twists or jumps or throws his tiny legs in the air, eager to match Porthos' move. The amount of giggling he does, constantly asking his parents if they are watching makes him lose his breath quickly. Aramis couldn't be prouder of them both, capturing everything in the most epic video possible. After a while, the entire audience is laughing, cheering and as soon as the music ends and Porthos stops moving, he realizes that he never wants the holiday to finish. Because this is the best Christmas he's ever been giving to spend.

 

How Mati crashes into his leg, hugs it fiercely as he thanks him and tells him that he's so happy Porthos just taught him how to dance, it would make Porthos cry a little. This is the mini-Aramis who is a perfect reflection of his father and all the things Porthos loves about him.

 

“He's exhausted,” Anne whispers in the corridor as Porthos steps out of Aramis' bedroom after having a shower and changing his clothes. The younger children have gone napping together in the same bed. Aramis' oldest niece isn't one for naps, has never been, and is content to have her grandparents' undivided attention for at least one hour.

 

“You made them jump around a lot,” she adds, smiling so much. Porthos nods.

 

“It's good to let out some steam.”

 

“I'm really happy Mati likes you as much as he does,” she says quietly, resting one hand on his arm. Truth be told, Porthos is, too. It would have been miserable and awkward if the child had not appreciated his father's boyfriend. After a few days, Porthos can finally admit to himself that it was the most terrifying thing for him. And now that he's settled matters regarding Aramis' relationship with Anne, he can relax.

 

Still...

 

“Could we talk, Anne? Just the two of us?” Porthos demands after he's taken a deep breath. Her smile and her small nod tell him that she knows eaxctly what he wants to discuss, that she might feel the same and that it was only a matter of time before it happened.

 

“Porthos and I are going for a walk,” Anne explains as she pokes her head in the living room. Aramis wipes his head away from the TV, frowning. He barely has time to try to stand up and ask if everything is all right that his boyfriend is next to him, kisses his cheek, in front of everyone. And Aramis knows nothing upsetting can happen today. He's blushing a little, looking intently at the movie and ignoring the fond gaze of his mother.

 

“It's quite nice outside,” Porthos starts because they've been walking for long minutes, the dirt crisping under their shoes and they haven't talked much yet.

 

“It is. Your Christmases must be colder.”

 

“They are. When are you going back to Madrid?”

 

“The day after you leave. I have to go back to work as well.”

 

“What did you say your job was?”

 

“I work in a museum. I mainly do tours, but officially I have a History degree. I'm in charge of planning exhibitions and such.”

 

“You and Aramis have that in common, then. He loves going to museums, seeing new exhibits.”

 

“He does, doesn't he? I remember, when Mati was only a few months old and we were both juggling studies and a baby, he took me out to an open night I'd wanted to attend in a castle. With Mati. He didn't care if it wasn't the most pratical outing. I loved it.”

 

Porthos catches how her eyes shine with the memory of what Aramis did for her, what he may still be doing for her. It seems foolish to have been jealous of her when Aramis may practically have saved her. From a life she didn't want with her former fiancé, from a life as an absolute single mother. She may spend most of the year alone with her child, Aramis is nevertheless always present, either on a phone, on a computer or in the flesh, ready to assist, never shying away from his responsibilities.

 

“I think I have an idea why you wanted us to talk,” Anne adds since Porthos has fallen silent.

 

“Do you?”

 

“I'm aware my relationship with Aramis isn't conventional.”

 

“I wouldn't judge you. For that it's worth, you are doing an excellent job, raising Mati as you do. The both of you.”

 

“Thank you. But I would never, ever put myself between the two of you. You wouldn't believe how happy I was for him when he told me about you back in the summer. He deserves happiness. He deserves you, Porthos.”

 

“He'd still choose you if it ever came to that.” Porthos isn't bitter, simply realistic.

 

“It won't, Porthos.” Her voice is steady, confident in what she says. “We've made it work for years and we'll keep doing it. The only change is that now you are in the picture. It's for the best. I'm glad it's you. With your big muscles and your laughter and your smiles and all the little things which make Aramis feel on cloud nine. Because I can assure you, I've hardly ever seen him look at someone the way he looks at you.”

 

“He's great.”

 

“He is. He's handling it well, being away and all. I couldn't do it. But now he has you, and he has Mati and I and really, Porthos, I wouldn't like anything more than for us to be friends, if not a family.”

 

Her companion is speechless even though this is how he hoped the conversation would go. The same faith and reassurance that his boyfriend proclaimed the previous day.

 

“I hope we're already friends.”

 

He didn't expect the arms wrapping around his waist after he's done talking. Anne's reply that she's glad they are is muffled in his coat.

 

“I will never steal Aramis from you, I can assure you this.” Have they talked, Aramis and her, Porthos wonders. Or his jealousy may have been too obvious and she noticed. “Not in that sense. But he's the father of my baby and I will not tolerate any harm which could be done to him.”

 

Her authoritarian and sharp tone reminds Porthos of how Constance talked to him, the first time he met her. She told him something along the same line and really, it's amazing how many strong women appreciate Aramis and wouldn't hesitate to defend him if someone dared to break his heart.

 

Porthos swears he has no intention of doing so and that settles it.

 

If he was trying to look nonchalant, Aramis fails splendidly when they come back inside. One look at both of them calms his nerves a bit but then, Porthos sits by his side, draps one arm around his shoulders. Anne plops on the armrest on Aramis' left, their shoulders bump and his heart slows down. He's nestled between the two of them and couldn't be happier.

* * *

 

The rest of their stay in Spain is uneventful until on their last evening, Aramis has to explain to Mati that their flight is in the morning.

 

The child is playing by himself, cousins, uncles and aunts gone. He's chosen the new toys he loved more than the others and is oblivious to what his father says. Aramis grabs him by the waist, sits on the couch with his son in his arms, unwilling to release him. He's going to miss him immensely. Anne sits by his side. Porthos has been included in the conversation without a single hesitation.

 

“Are we reading a story?” Mati asks, hopeful. He's decided he likes Porthos' deep tones for some characters in his books.

 

“Later, yes. We have something to tell you, first. We had a wonderful time with you and Mamá and grandpa and grandma,” Aramis starts, feels the tiny nod against his chest. “But Porthos and I have to go back to Paris tomorrow.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Porthos has to go back to work. You know how Mamá will go back to work next week? It's the same for him.”

 

“To dance?”

 

“Yes,” Porthos answers. Mati nods again.

 

“But you have to go, too, Papá?”

 

“I do. We bought tickets on the same plane.”

 

“Why?”

 

“What did I tell you on the first day? About Porthos?”

 

“....you love him?”

 

The three adults share a smile as he remembers.

 

“Exactly. And because I love him very much, I am going back with him.”

 

“I can come, too?”

 

Mati's voice is thinning out, a whisper as he clutches Aramis' fingers. Anne grabs them, too.

 

“What would happen to Mamá? All alone in your home?”

 

“Mamá comes too?”

 

“Mamá has to work.”

 

Mati's only answer to this is a pout, all his arguments have been defeated and he doesn't like it. He never likes it. Aramis hates it. Perhaps a little less now that he has Porthos to support him but his heart is ripped in half every time he has to say good bye.

 

Aramis does prowess, not an ounce of sadness in his voice. He's all joy and excitement. Porthos marvels at his strength since he can feel his own heart break a little at the scene.

 

“But we'll see each other soon! And it will be as amazing as always! And you have all these new toys to play with. Besides, we'll see each other on the computer on Friday! I bet you've missed this!”

 

“I've missed seeing your surprise drawings”, Porthos chimes in, catches the thankful look on Aramis' face. Mati considers it, gives a faint nod but nevertheless shifts and doesn't relinquish his hold on his father for the entire evening.

 

Porthos almost decides to sleep in another room because it's impossible to tear Mati off Aramis' neck. His boyfriend wouldn't have it, though and Anne was fine with it. After the first few minutes of awkwardness, of having a child in the same bed, albeit on the other side of Aramis, Porthos manages to relax and sleep.

 

Their parting is far more difficult to witness than their reunion a few days beforehand. Aramis refuses to shed one tear, wants to be strong for them both since Mati has been wailing from the very moment bags have appeared in the hallway and Porthos has put his coat on.

 

It takes them long minutes to coax him out of Aramis' arms. When they do, tiny hands reach for Porthos instead of Anne and that's how he finds himself with Mati's legs wrapped around his waist, arms around his neck, face hidden against his shoulder. Porthos doesn't hold back his emotions as well as Aramis does it.

 

“It was great meeting you, Mati.”

 

“Don't go,” the little boy sniffs.

 

“I have to work. But I'll see you soon, eh?”

 

He's come so far in such little time that he feels like he will break down soon. This little boy is everything and Porthos wouldn't have imagined he would mean so much to him after less than a week. Aramis' hand is safe in his once they are on the backseat on his father's car, on their way to the airport. Everyone is quiet.

 

“It was really nice of you to have me,” Porthos thanks his host before they have to say good bye at the airport.

 

“The pleasure was all ours, Porthos. I hope we'll see you again.”

 

“You will,” Aramis assures him. He hugs his father in the same fashion he did his mother or Anne.

 

“Good. Call us when you're home.”

 

They find seats to wait while their flight isn't boarding. There's no mistaking the look in Aramis' eyes: far away, lost in thoughts.

 

“Hey. You can cry if you want,” Porthos whispers softly in his ear, allows Aramis to drop his head on his shoulder. There are fingers running through the black curls, soothing and gentle. It's all the prompting Aramis needs to start sobbing.

 

“I had a fantastic time, Aramis. All thanks to you. I love you.”

 

“I love you, too.”

 


	7. Winter (Part Three)

**December**

 

The flight back to Paris is a quick business, rather quiet in spite of Aramis trying very hard to look pleased and sunny. Porthos cannot blame him for failing since he's also already missing his boyfriend's family.

 

They have to take the train back into town and then the subway. Once they are outside in the street, assaulted by the air much colder than it was in Spain, Porthos' phone chimes a couple of times so he has to relinquish Aramis' hand safely held in his grasp to find out that Charon and Flea are asking them to go out for drinks with them in the evening. It's already dark in the city, close to six in the afternoon, and all the street lights and the Christmas decorations are lighting up the path to Aramis' appartment.

 

“Do you want to come with me?” Porthos asks him because he feels like it would be a nice distraction to forget that they just said goodbye to Mati in the morning. Aramis hardly hesitates before shaking his head.

 

“No, thanks. I'd rather go home.”

 

“Are you sure?” There's a worried edge to Porthos' question which makes Aramis drop his bag and circle Porthos' waist tightly. Then he tilts his chin up so he can reach the other's lips: cold but soft and welcoming.

 

“I'll be good by myself. Don't worry about me and go have fun.”

 

“Call me if you need anything.”

 

Porthos isn't too pleased to see Aramis go his separate way even though he completely understands why he does it. He cannot even begin to imagine how sad and melancolic he must be to be away from the son he spent so many long hours glued to for the past week. What Porthos also doesn't like is that Aramis is going to one appartment while he has to go to another. It's a problem he will have to remedy to soon, especially if they want to start the New Year right.

 

There's hardly nothing which scares him now about their relationship and if it does, Porthos is determined to try and overcome it. Meeting everyone in Spain and blending in perfectly has made him so much more confident in his ability to not mess up.

 

A short hour later, he is reunited with Flea and Charon in a crowded bar. She is quick to ask where Aramis has disappeared to after they've asked how everybody is going and have wished each other a belated Merry Christmas.

 

“He was tired and went home to rest.” Porthos cannot help but be concerned to have left him alone, but after all, Aramis is an adult and he knows what he's doing. It's only a novelty to Porthos.

 

Flea has the decency to wait until her friend has ordered a drink and is sitting opposite her to ask the burning questions she's had on the tip of her tongue since he's arrived.

 

“So?”

 

Porthos' smile could almost be the sole answer required. It lights up his face and the bags under his eyes, proof that the holiday wasn't really relaxing. He seems miles away as he recalls events which happened during the last days.

 

“It was amazing,” he eventually confesses. “Everything was close to perfect.”

 

“Better than with us?” Flea pouts a little, just for good measure and to have Charon hug her in comfort.

 

“It was different,” Porthos has to admit. “A good different. I could definitely get used to it. Besides, the weather was quite nicer than here.”

 

“Do you have any pictures of your stepson, then?”

 

Porthos manages not to choke on his beer as he stares at Flea, totally unfazed and all inquiring eyes.

 

“He's not my...”

 

“Hush. He is. Pictures?”

 

Surrender is the only option for Porthos, still baffled by the admission having been made out loud. It seemed obvious to everyone, the relationship between him and Aramis' family rather clear and everybody comfortable with one another. Nevertheless, the actual title carries such meaning and significance that Porthos is fine ignoring it all for a while longer. At least until Aramis tells him so, even if unofficially, they all know where they stand.

 

Flea and Charon, who is as curious as his girlfriend, battle to have a good look at the only picture Porthos has on his phone: Mati playing on the floor with some new toys and Aramis sprawled by his side. Flea cooes adoribly, demands more, demands pictures of the little boy with Porthos who receives a stern look once he announces that Aramis has all the others.

 

This one is deemed enough for the moment and the conversation turns to more common topics: their trip to the orphanage, the friends they saw to celebrate the holidays and their plans for New Year's Eve. In all the excitement and stress of meeting Mati and his mother, Porthos realizes they never quite discussed it.

 

“Ah, speak of the Devil,” Charon exclaims at one point, raising one arm and waving from the side as he spots Aramis searching for them in the bar. There's still a tired edge to his eyes and his smile, in spite of its genuineness. On a positive note, he doesn't appear as sad as earlier. He may have spoken with his parents and Mati in Spain. And if he is still miserable, he does a great job at hiding it.

 

“You changed your mind,” Porthos says, satisfied with him sitting almost on his lap on the booth: two grown men so committed and devoted to one another they wouldn't mind such a move in public.

 

It's a good thing Porthos texted him the address of the bar, just in case, he decides after Aramis kisses his cheek sweetly, gathers courage from it and steals some of his beer.

 

“It was lonely in the appartment so I assumed I would be better here with you all.”

 

“And you were correct. We were talking about New Year's Eve. What do you usually do?”

 

“Nothing special.” Aramis shrugs, resolute to hide the fact that if it wasn't for Porthos having to work, he'd still be in Spain, as he always does. “d'Artagnan mentioned doing something together. He's a friend from fencing,” he adds for Flea and Charon. “What about you?”

 

“Athos hosts something in his loft. I'm sure your friends would be welcome, too.”

 

“Except that might not be happening anymore.”

 

“Why not?” Porthos cocks his head at Charon.

 

“Didn't he tell you? About Ninon?”

 

“He told me to wish her a Merry Christmas myself when I texted him on the 25th. What happened?”

 

“They split up again,” Flea explains.

 

“Not exactly,” Charon is fast to supply. “I think they had an argument over where to spend the holiday and you know how Athos avoids female conflicts.”

 

“I'm sure he said it was better if they took a break. What an idiot.”

 

“Flea,” Porthos rebukes her after she's insulted their friend. He gives her a pointed look above his already half-empty glass of beer and Flea recoils a little.

 

“Right. Sorry.”

 

Aramis has been following the conversation from the sideline, busy with his own alcoholic drink, attempting to focus on the present time and not on Mati. It was easier the last time they said goodbye, in August, and Aramis was coming back to Porthos that he had missed deeply. This time around, Porthos has been with him all along and a reunion isn't possibe to soothe his aching heart. Too bad.

 

Although he misses some of the important background information to understand the discussion at hand, Aramis is nevertheless rather surprised to see Flea obey so easily. He's met her a handful of times since he's started dating Porthos, but she's always appeared like a determined woman and the men around her do not mess with her, especially as she doesn't let them walk all over her. This isn't what happened right now and that's new to him.

 

“I'll call him in the morning,” Porthos decides. “He didn't say a thing about their problems and for _that_ , he's an idiot.”

 

They drop the conversation after that, much to Aramis' contentment because he didn't get much. To be honest, he doesn't remember much about what happens next either. He's often lost in thoughts or in his drink until Porthos mentions that he's tired, too, and that they should call it a night.

 

Everything is quiet on the ride back to Aramis' place which is the closest to the bar. He remains close to Porthos in the taxi, mind buried deep under layers of fluffy and magical memories. He would probably have gotten drunk to avoid thinking too much about Spain and he's thankful for his boyfriend checking on him and stopping him from ordering too many beers.

 

“I'm glad we can sleep in tomorrow,” Porthos yawns, stretching in bed, wearing only his underwear as none of his clothes he left there before their break are clean and Aramis' tee-shirts are all too small for him. As far as he's concerned, Aramis doesn't mind the other's sleeping apparel. He agrees silently, nods thoughtfully and cuddles next to his boyfriend under the heavy comforter.

 

Porthos' arms are strong and safe around him, saying much more than any words could achieve, letting Aramis sink back into a relaxing state, conveying love and affection.

 

“What is it about Athos and women?” Aramis asks softly after a while. Silence settles around them as Porthos shifts a little, fingers trailing on Aramis' arm, ticklish and smooth. Warm. “It's okay if you don't want to share anything because it's personal,” he adds, suddenly realizing that he might be prying. “It's just that I remember your father and you talking about it so...”

 

“To be fair, it's no secret. It's not a nice story, either.”

 

“I'd like to know. If that's all right.”

 

“Of course.” There are half-closed eyes looking up at Porthos and he cannot help but kiss the top of Aramis' head, relishing in the low sigh which follows.

 

“A couple of years after high school, he met the seemingly perfect girl. The one every man would dream about. Ironically, her name was Anne, but she was galaxies away from yours. At the time, I hadn't known him for long but we had truly connected and I must admit I had never seen him so smitten with someone before. He was still Athos, always looking blasé with everything and yet he suddenly looked lighter and happier. Even laughing, can you imagine?”

 

Aramis wonders if he has ever heard the sound of Athos' laughter. The answer is probably “no”.

 

“They were married in a couple of months. I don't think anybody in his family agreed to it but he wasn't underage and he could do whatever he wished with his life. The wedding was a really small affair, I can't remember more than a handful of people attending it. But Athos didn't care because she was exceptional and he loved her. I mean, she did look nice and sweet at the beginning. And then it changed after a few months.”

 

“It was like she was a different woman. Just thinking about it, I'm still shocked at the complete change in her personality. I'll give it to her, she could have won awards for her acting.” In spite of the praise, Aramis cannot miss the bitter and poisonous tone used by his boyfriend. How much he hates that woman, even after all these years. How much Aramis is starting to despise someone he's never met.

 

“In the end, she only was after his money and getting new clothes, new jewels, new bags and whatever would make her look wealthy and above everyone else. If it had all been legal, it may never have ended. Except that one day, Thomas caught her trying to steal some of their mother's diamonds. Do you remember the scar he has on his jaw?”

 

Aramis nods, cannot tear his eyes away from the serious look on Porthos' face and how upset he sounds.

 

“That's where she stabbed him when he ran into her. She only missed his throat by a few centimeters.”

 

“That's awful!” Aramis gasps, horrified. He completely sits up in bed, Porthos' hand falling on his hip. Porthos scowls in remembrance.

 

“Yeah. Athos was crushed.”

 

“I can imagine.”

 

“After she was arrested, he disappeared for a while. Nobody knew where he was until one day, he showed up on my father's doorstep, drunk and looking like he had spent weeks in the woods. He never said where he had been. Not even to me. Perhaps he doesn't remember.”

 

“Are they divorced?”

 

“Absolutely. The worst is that soon after, the police found out that she had also robbed a lot of rich people in England and in Germany, I think it was. She's a despicable woman. I don't believe Athos has actually completely recovered from it.”

 

Aramis doesn't know how to react without insulting that horrible woman who may have destroyed the life of Porthos' best friend. All of a sudden, he has found someone else to feel sorry for and it makes him feel slightly better. His life, being away from his son and all, it isn't such a tragedy. Because in the end, they'll always come back to him. They'll never betray him or break his heart into so many pieces he won't manage to fix it back.

 

Instead, he holds on tightly to Porthos, buries his head in the crook of his neck, listens to his steady breathing after the end of his tale.

 

“He definitely shouldn't be alone for New Year's Eve, then.”

 

“I agree. He loves Ninon and he knows it. I'll go see him in the morning.”

 

“Good.”

 

“I told you this wasn't the best bedtime story. Sorry.”

 

He feels Aramis' head shake against him, fingers creeping up his stomach gently, miles away from the sad person he was hours or simply minutes before.

 

“I'm glad to know, Porthos. Truly. Thank you.” His lips are hot against the pulsing vein in Porthos' neck. It makes him shiver. “And anyway...weren't you getting tired of princesses and dragons?”

 

His playful tone tells Porthos Aramis will be all right in the morning. Missing his son and Anne as much as he always does, but nevertheless going back to his Parisian life, holding on to the memories and eager to create new ones soon. Hopefully.

 

“Not really,” Porthos confesses and the smile on Aramis' face is everything.

 

“Good.”

 

“The pirate one was the best, though. You never told me you could do such great impersonations.”

 

“I like to keep some mystery,” Aramis teases, and cannot regret it once it has led Porthos to pin him to the mattress. Hard-rock muscles press him onto the bed, making it impossible for Aramis to do so much as squirm, not that he has any intention of escaping. He keeps on nuzzling Porthos' neck, skin tingling because of the strong fists holding both of his hands above his head.

 

“I knew there were perks to coming back to France. No interruption whatsoever,” Aramis adds after Porthos cocks his head before he shuts him up properly and makes him realize how very lucky they are to be alone in the appartment.

 

On the next morning, Porthos jogs to Athos' loft because why would the weather decide to bless the capital city with some snow when it can give it endless rain and freezing wind? He's jealous of Aramis who got to stay indoors.

 

“We need to talk!” Porthos shouts, barging in the appartment, not caring if Athos may still be sleeping or too hungover to have a proper conversation. Then he freezes and cannot feel anything but confused because the first person he notices is Ninon, sitting on a kitchen stool, having breakfast.

 

“But I thought...”

 

“I came to check on him, as well,” she explains, hopping down gracefully and coming to greet him.

 

“She's too good to me,” Athos slurs. Porthos sees him too, now, head hanging low above his mug of coffee. He's not feeling well enough to come down his own stool and say hi. His best friend silently agrees with the statement, nods to show it.

 

“With only two days left before the New Year, I figured it wasn't good to end it on a conflict. Even though it's _healthy_ to have some from time to time.”

 

Athos flinches under her stare, however kind it might be.

 

“I know. Have a seat, Porthos.”

 

Still full from the breakfast he bought with Aramis, Porthos only accepts a cup of coffee and is distracted from his current mission by questions about Spain, about Aramis and his family. Until Ninon excuses herself to go to the bathroom. At this point, Athos knows better than to raise his head to catch the dark stare of his best friend.

 

“Did you really dump her because you couldn't agree on where to spend Christmas?”

 

“Have you been talking to Flea and Charon?”

 

“Yes. Since you don't say anything.”

 

Athos hardly recoils at the scolding tone.

 

“She wanted me to meet her grandparents,” he says, as if it could explain and forgive the entire affair.

 

“So? I met Aramis' in Spain. Lovely folks.”

 

As they both lived in a retirement house, Porthos only spent a couple of hours with them. Mati was growing too restless for more.

 

“I don't meet families.”

 

“How come?”

 

“It means I'm getting too involved.”

 

“Rubbish. You're so much involved with Ninon already. And might I add that you never met _her_ family because she supposedly didn't have any and it didn't prevent any disaster from happening.”

 

“I know.” Athos is aware that everything his best friend is telling him is true and he already knows it.

 

“I don't understand why you would want to break your own heart. Not taking chances will never get you anywhere.”

 

“Are you a shrink, now, too?”

 

“I'm serious, Athos.” Porthos isn't joking at all. He couldn't be more committed to making his friend's relationship work as best as it can. “I've been changing lately.”

 

“I noticed.”

 

“The New Year is in two days. It's time for you to change as well.”

 

Athos only scowls, desperate to hope as much as Porthos does. The chance encounter with Aramis in the spring has brought him so many wonderful things and clearly, Athos would be elated if his life could become as good.

 

“Is it too early for wine?”

 

“Yes!” Porthos and Ninon answer at the same time. It makes Porthos chuckle in spite of himself. Ninon is barefoot as she comes back to the living room, so at ease. And then she hugs Athos who doesn't recoil at her touch.

 

“If that's settled, are you hosting your party as usual?” Porthos demands, clasping his hands and getting down to more important business.

 

 

Extending the party invitation to some of Aramis' friends was not a problem at all so he gathers Constance, d'Artagnan and a couple of people from university to join them.

 

The music is loud once Porthos and Aramis arrive and there is so much alcohol everwhere. As well as food. Nobody goes more than a few minutes without a drink in hand. It's becoming more and more difficult to find a place to sit down. All the neighbours seems to have been invited, which is just as good because Aramis doesn't see how they could have slept with that racket.

 

The large crowd, the games, the Wii and the dancing, the shouting to be heard, it all gives him something else to focus on than Mati, even though falling back into his Parisian life has been almost effortless. But he has no time to worry about what it may mean.

 

The place could pass for a frat party, except that all the guests are remarkably better dressed and more well-behaved and civilized than students could be.

 

Constance has been glowing ever since she appeared and her engagement ring practically blinds Aramis after she's thrust it in front of his face.

 

“Congratulations!” He must fail at sounding and looking surprised at the news because Constance loses her smile and slaps his arm with the back of his hand.

 

“You knew?”

 

“I did. Who else would have comforted d'Artagnan every time he was so sure you would reject him? Which, by the way, was a stupid thought to have.”

 

To prove his point, he reaches forward for his friends and hugs them both, shares their happiness about this new chapter in their life.

 

“I'm really happy for you!”

 

Porthos is quick to say the same once he has heard the good news. But he doesn't have time to say much more as Constance has more pressing questions to ask.

 

“How was it, then? Meeting the mini-Aramis we never got to?”

 

“How could you? He's never come to Paris,” Aramis replies to defend himself. It doesn't deter Constance.

 

“And who's fault is that? Never mind. So, Porthos?”

 

“It was good. Very good. Wonderful.”

 

Aramis beams up at him, bumps onto his side, already a bit tipsy from champagne and cocktails.

 

“Let me show you the best thing which happened.” He fumbles with his phone until he can find the correct video.

 

It's ridiculously cute and funny even if they can hardly hear anything because of the music surrounding them. Constance is transfixed by the sight of Porthos trying to avoid unwanted kicks as he attemps to teach the children some dancing moves. His instructions in broken Spanish are yelled, the video is wobbly because Aramis wouldn't stop shaking with laughter while recording it.

 

“It's perfect,” Constance decides. “I should really join your gym.”

 

“You should!” Aramis agrees.

 

“I'll give you one class for free to see if you like it,” Porthos suggests without hesitation. “To check it out and you'll get a special discount if you decide you want to subscribe.”

 

“Really? Wow! That's so sweet of you!” Constance is amazed at his generosity and has to reach out to hug him.

 

“No problem.”

 

The news of the video on Aramis' phone quickly makes its way around the loft and Flea loves it, wants to keep watching it and harasses Aramis until he sends it to her. The exact same process happens when she realizes the amount of cute pictures Aramis possesses, especially those where Mati is sitting on Porthos' lap. In the end, Aramis simply gives her his phone so she can take whatever she wants and leave them be.

 

When midnight strikes, he is sprawled in a corner with Porthos, cuddling on a pile of borrowed pillows, firm arms around his shoulders. There are empty bottles more or less everywhere on the floor and they're both feeling too drunk to stand up and shout the countdown with the others. Their quiet and intimate New Year kiss, the way Porthos buries his fingers in Aramis growing curls, the way Aramis' hand sneaks under Porthos shirt and grabs hot flesh, the way they moan and suck and lick into a never-ending kiss: it's as erotic as it could get.

* * *

**January**

Sleeping at Athos' appears to be the most reasonable solution and they crash in the studio after the crowd has thinned out, in the early hours of the morning. They're both a little hungover as they wake up, too soon. Athos is nowhere to be found, probably still sleeping and there are some other friends passed out in the living room. The only other awake person is Ninon, busy cleaning in the kitchen.

 

She refuses their help with the dishes, content to do this for her boyfriend. Aramis and Porthos leave, then, desperate for a shower and much needed rest. They have to go their separate ways at a subway station, but Porthos hasn't walked more than a few meters when he stops abruptly.

 

“Wait! That's ridiculous!” Aramis has turned around and watches as his boyfriend strides towards him in the street. “We can't do this anymore.”

 

“What?”

 

“Us. This.” Porthos motions between the two of them. “It's stupid.”

 

“What?”

 

Aramis sounds lost, only half-awake. He wants water and painkillers. He doesn't understand what Porthos is talking about. At all. He squints to concentrate.

 

“We can't keep going on like this.”

 

“What?”

 

Now, Aramis sounds mad.

 

“But I thought...I thought we were going great, Porthos. I...You spent Christmas with us. I let you meet Ma...I let you meet my son!! And now you decide that you want to end it?”

 

“What? No! Why would I want that?” Once Porthos catches what prompted the misunderstanding, he's quick to fix it. There's a wild look in his tired eyes, one hand holding on to Aramis' arm, desperate to avoid losing him would he decide to storm off.

 

“Oh no, Aramis! I meant, living separately. I know we have each other's key but still. Why should we have to be apart today simply because our clothes are at two different spots?”

 

Aramis relaxes at the clarification, scratches his forehead. He has a headache.

 

“Are you asking me to move in with you?”

 

“Well, not with me in particular. I mean, not necessarily at my place. Geez, I can't speak today. You get it, though.”

 

“So...moving in together?”

 

“Yes. I'd like that. If you want to.”

 

It makes perfect sense. Aramis wants it with all his heart. He grabs Porthos' coat with both hands, hangs on to it, lips barely touching, a wide grin on them.

 

“Are you sure you could handle me?”

 

“I already do. We're hardly apart to sleep at night, or in the evenings, or the mornings.”

 

“Well, then. Yes. I want it, too.”

 

They seal the deal with a kiss, Aramis deeply relieved the conversation wasn't the break-up he had imagined at the beginning. It takes a couple of minutes for his heart to recover from the shock. Yet, their new decision doesn't change the fact that Porthos doesn't have any change of clothes at Aramis'. On the other hand, his boyfriend has no problem borrowing some at Porthos' as they end up catching up on their sleep there.

 

 

Their January having started on a good note, Aramis feels confident that it will continue on the same excellent path, especially as far as job hunting goes. However, he soon turns desperate because no new jobs have appeared in all the fields he fancies. Studying some more isn't appealing to him at all and although it might be the easiest choice since he's bilingual and supposedly good with children, he refuses to become a teacher.

 

Making himself at home at Porthos' keeps him busy the rest of the time. The appartment is slightly bigger than Aramis' and besides, you can see the Eiffel Tower from most of the windows. As it is also close to his gym, the choice was obvious. Sometimes, Aramis does miss his bed and walking barefoot on the wooden floors in his small living room.

 

 _But_ , there are now new drawings by Mati on Porthos' fridge, and the rugs are heaven to step on. There is also a picture of the four of them -Porthos, Aramis, his son and Anne- on the table, waiting to be hanged on a wall. Aramis could spend hours just gazing at it, losing himself in Mati's wide grin, the toy he refused to leave aside, his small hand holding on to Porthos' shoulder even though his father was hugging him tight.

 

To be honest, there is almost nothing of his left at Aramis' place by the end of the month. And yet, he doesn't want to sell it because he vividly remembers falling in love with it the first time he visited it. So Aramis focuses on renting it instead, finds it another great distraction from his unemployment.

 

Besides, their new everyday cohabitation hardly feels like a transition from their life before. Aramis spends days cooking or accompanying his boyfriend to the gym, helping as best as he can with paperwork. They go for walks and wish they could adopt a bunch of dogs, even though they both agree it would ruin the appartment.

 

Porthos only loves Aramis more for it all. They cuddle endlessly, they argue over grocery lists and whose turn it is to do the laundry or clean. They struggle to find room for all of Aramis' books. Little changes which make for a sense of domesticity Porthos isn't used to, and neither is Aramis. Everything that they have to get round and accept. Everything made easy as breathing. And if it should frighten them, they decide that it's better to bask in it all.

 

What Porthos doesn't enjoy is noticing how restless Aramis starts to grow, how much faith he loses the longer his job hunt remains fruitless. The moment Aramis begins to complain that he might have to search miles away for a job that he likes, and when Porthos sees how unwilling he is to do, is the moment he knows he has to act.

 

“I've got something for you,” Porthos announces one evening as he hands a paper to his boyfriend, a name and a phone number scribbled on it.

 

“What is it?”

 

“A friend of Athos' mother. You mentioned being interested in the publishing business once and he called around, got her to grant you an interview.”

 

All of a sudden, Aramis closes off, his jaw clenches. He drops the crumbled piece of paper on the table he was setting for dinner.

 

“I don't need favours,” he replies curtly, surprises Porthos.

 

“It's not one. It's just a little help. There's nothing wrong with seizing an opportunity.”

 

“I don't need help either. I'm perfectly capable of finding something on my own.”

 

“You've been miserable for weeks, Aramis.” He moves closer as he says so, all gentle tone to appease the other. “It can't hurt to meet her.”

 

“Well, I don't know if I will.”

 

“Aren't you interested?”

 

“I didn't say that.”

 

“So, it'll be good to...”

 

“You can't know that! Don't say that!” Aramis shouts, cutting him off. Porthos almost takes a step back.

 

“What has gotten into you?”

 

“You did things behind my back, without telling me!”

 

“I simply wanted to be helpful.”

 

“I've been doing fine on my own!”

 

“Really? I wouldn't say so. Just yesterday you complained about not wanting to be a waiter but feeling like it was the only option left.”

 

“Perhaps I want to, now! You don't know this! You shouldn't have asked Athos.”

 

“He was happy to be of assistance.”

 

Porthos tries very hard to keep his voice even and to stay in control. He doesn't want to yell back, no matter how loud Aramis gets. But Porthos is starting to shake and shout, too. Aramis has moved away from him, to the other side of the living room.

 

“And I'm not! Happy! At all! I don't want anybody's help!”

 

Porthos looks, confused and stunned as Aramis strides to the bedroom, and slams the door on the heavy silence which settles after their fight. He does consider going after him and yet, he doesn't clearly understand what's just happened. After all, they've been with each other non-stop for the last month and they may both need some time alone.

 

Aramis doesn't come back for dinner, though and Porthos cannot concentrate after he's done with the dishes of his sad and lonely meal. So he goes to knock on the bedroom door.

 

“Aramis? I'm not going to sleep on the couch in my own appartment.”

 

As he still hears nothing back, he settles for opening the door slowly, eager to avoid another outburst. It's chilly in the room, Aramis being at the open window, wearing one of Porthos' gigantic sweatshirts.

 

“Can I smoke?” His voice is small and hesitant. Perhaps even miserable. He's been restraining himself for the past hour and the need is becoming overwhelming.

 

“Yeah,” Porthos agrees, for the first time. “But you should go easy on it. You must have smoked one packet in the last few days.”

 

He feels like now, they are comfortable enough around one another for him to make such comments about Aramis' smoking habits. Comments he wouldn't have dreamed of making earlier in their relationship. Porthos leans against the wall while Aramis lights up a cigarette and merely shrugs.

 

“I've been stressed out.”

 

“Which is why you should accept help and not withdraw like that.”

 

“I'm used to doing things on my own.”

 

“I thought you were all about team spirit.”

 

“In my private life, I mean.”

 

“Well, you're not on your own anymore, Aramis. And it's been fantastic, as far as I'm concerned.”

 

Carefully, Porthos puts one hand on Aramis' back while he blows smoke outside. It's comforting and he leans against the touch.

 

“It is,” Aramis agrees. “I don't want priviledges.”

 

“She never said she'd give you a position. It's an interview.”

 

“Which publishing house is it?” Aramis eventually has to ask and he looks sheepish once he's caught how Porthos grins. Aramis sounds hopeful as he waves around so all the smoke will disappear and he can close the window.

 

“La Pléiade.” Porthos knew there would be stars in Aramis' eyes; his boyfriend doesn't disappoint. Aramis shifts on his feet, gets close to Porthos until all the other can smell is tobacco.

 

“Why didn't you say so before?”

 

“I would have if you hadn't shouted at me.”

 

Aramis cringes again, feels at once awful and even more exhausted.

 

“Sorry.” His hands sneak around Porthos' waist, freezing fingers on warm skin which make Porthos come close nonetheless.

 

“It also was on the piece of paper I gave you.”

 

“Sorry. I'm a terrible boyfriend.”

 

“You're an outstanding boyfriend,” Porthos retorts. “You're normal and nobody expects you to be perfect. Especially as we're moving on with our life together.” The next sentence burns a hole in his heart but he's aware it's for the greater good. “Would you like to go back to your place for a while? To have a break? Breathe?”

 

Aramis is quick to shake his head and when he stops it's to rest his forehead against Porthos'.

 

“I've been feeling good with you here. And...maybe it could be my place, too? Officially?”

 

He's so hesitant that Porthos has to hug him until Aramis' head drops against his shoulder and he can smoothe black curls just the way he likes it.

 

“For as long as you want.”

 

It's an easy business to steer a relieved, tired, cranky Aramis to the bed, to cradle him and kiss him until he's not upset anymore.

 


	8. Winter (Part Four)

**Valentine's Day**

 

In spite of their love for one another, Porthos and Aramis do not want to do anything too romantic or cheesy for their first Valentine's Day. Even though they are pretty much all over each other in private, they aren't big on this type of display of affection in public. They don't see how it's necessary to go to fancy restaurants on this particular day to know how they feel about the other. Besides, it's such a commercial holiday that they are a bit sick of seeing it advertised everywhere in the city.

 

So, they decide to tag along with d'Artagnan and Constance as well as her cousin Fleur and her husband. They spend the afternoon in an escape game inspired by Alice in Wonderland. It's one of the many things that Aramis hasn't yet done in Paris because he lacked people to go with. Everything is different now and he couldn't be more pleased.

 

They are so engrossed in the game and the competition that at times, they sound like a bunch of teenagers. No one is willing to admit defeat and they battle until the last minute to win, thanks to d'Artagnan who cleverly finds the last clue. It's only natural for the others to pay him drinks to thank him.

 

It's been an invigorating afternoon, they've had a lot of fun and meeting people through his boyfriend is nice. Porthos excels at making new friends and at being comfortable around people his age because that's what he's had to do to survive when he was younger. A valuable social skill.

 

There is a rugby match being broadcast in the pub where they find refuge for much needed refreshments. It's loud and crowded and so far away from what people would imagine for a first Valentine's Day. Nobody cares.

 

Aramis ends up wrapped all over Porthos while he discusses wedding details with Constance. D'Artagnan has asked him to be his best man and after accepting, he wouldn't stop grinning. Being entrusted with such a responsibility thrills him, although the wedding won't be happening until the summer of the next year. There is so much to decide already nevertheless.

 

After some time, Aramis is slurring a little, laughing too loudly above the empty plates of finger food scattered on the table. The noisy atmosphere doesn't stop him from growing horny. Porthos is so close and they are hot in the pub. He cannot help his wandering hands.

 

His lips touch and wet Porthos' ear, his fingers creep up his thigh, reach for the other's groin under the table. If it first makes him jerk in surprise, Porthos quickly gets hard with each of Aramis' caress. Even if the company is nice and he's actually starting to like d'Artagnan, showing his boyfriend the consequences of teasing him so is much more enticing.

 

“Do you remember the first time we went to a pub together?” The tip of Aramis' tongue licks his ear. He bites a little as well. Porthos groans, shifts on the booth. He's grateful d'Artagnan is focused on praising Constance's fine hair and on making her laugh. In doing so, he fails to notice the sexual tension building up next to him.

 

“I do,” Porthos replies. He recalls most of that night rather clearly: the endless and outrageous flirting, the dirty innuendo and the fact that they didn't care at all about groping one another in public.

 

“Would you like to re-enact it?” Aramis sucks on Porthos' ear and moves closer, his hand already half-closing on the hard-on underneath the denim of Porthos' jeans. Aramis can truly become a picture of sex if he decides to. It usually turns Porthos to mush. A hot mushy mess. He has to growl because of the dexterous fingers playing with his fly and the top button.

 

“Very much, yes.” Porthos turns his head to the left, captures Aramis' eager lips in a sloppy kiss with too much teeth and tongue. They wouldn't have stopped for a while except that Constance clears her throat and smirks widely once they both look at her. She fails to remain serious as they say goodbye, thank her and the others for a memorable afternoon before leaving hastily.

 

The only moment when they manage to stay in control on the way home is when they are in the subway. They are nonetheless holding hands and the amount of dirty ideas Aramis whispers to Porthos makes it incredibly difficult for him not to have his way with his boyfriend on the train.

 

Porthos slams Aramis hard against the front door when they are in the corridor in his appartment complex. The sound echoes around them while Aramis moans and absolutely doesn't fight the fists closing on his wrists.

 

“You know what you were getting yourself into.”

 

“Yes,” Aramis rasps out, squirming to get some pressure. He revels in how Porthos' beard scratches his neck, how he presses his hands above his head so Aramis cannot move. What he can do is hook one leg up around Porthos' waist, denim rubbing.

 

Aramis never complains about Porthos being too rough with him because that's precisely what he wants. It's a reward for having suggested and worked Porthos for so long during the evening.

 

Their lips are swollen and they gasp heavily after they part. Dark eyes lock on Aramis, eyelids fluttering close with desire and passion. His wrists are numb once Porthos has to let him go to finally open the front door.

 

Aramis finds his anchor around Porthos' neck, keeps on saying how much he wants him, how hard he is getting for him. He grinds and rolls his hips as if they haven't had sex in weeks, which is a heresy which should never happen. And hasn't. Not for the past months.

 

They stumble on the bed, a hot mess of crumpled clothes, half-untied shoes. There are fingers and hands everywhere, even though hips are rolling slower now. Having reached the bedroom means that they have all the time in the world.

 

On their side, facing one another, they share a long kiss. A mix of hot tongues and burning lips. Aramis' leg is again up Porthos' hip, his foot pushing against his ass. Then he lifts the other's shirt, fingers deeping below the waistband of the jeans, nails raking the skin there. Porthos moans in his boyfriend's mouth. It also makes him drag Aramis closer until they are flushed together. His cock is so hard in his underwear that it's beautifully painful.

 

Yet, it's not as much as rolling around is so that Aramis is sprawled on the bed. In this position, it's easier to unbutton and take off their pants. Aramis is unwilling to stop kissing Porthos, though. His mouth chases after the other and he raises his head until he's propped on his elbows. He whines because Porthos has stood up to step out of his jeans.

 

His cock stands proudly at attention, big, perfect and exceptional. It's enticing and Aramis breathes out a shudder as he admires the view. He bites his lip then cups his own hard-on through his jeans. He can feel it leak in his boxers. Especially after Porthos has taken off his already unbuttoned shirt and stands stark naked at the foot of the bed, muscles begging to be licked, eyes narrowing on Aramis.

 

The hand he had over his pants is quick to find its way inside them, stroking in rhythm with how Porthos does it on his own erection, caressing and pulling, thinking of how perfect Aramis' mouth would be around it: silky, wet and making ungodly noises while blowing him. There's something incredibly erotic about watching Porthos getting his pleasure on his own. The show is so intense and slow that Aramis feels like he'll suffocate in his clothes.

 

His hair is tousled after he's gotten rid of his tee-shirt. Chiming out of his pants is ungraceful but there's no time to lose with such meaningless details. Then he's also completely naked, chest rising unevenly, one hand on his cock, legs spread on the bed.

 

“You're so sexy like that, you've no idea,” Porthos praises him in a husky voice.

 

“You're not so bad yourself.” Aramis props one leg up, gives Porthos a better view of his ass and balls and would smirk at how Porthos hisses. But he's so focused on staying in control and not losing it all at once that he can't do anything else.

 

“I could fuck you just right now. I bet you'd make some pretty noises.”

 

The assumption drips like honey in Aramis' ears, makes his skin tingle as Porthos puts both hands on Aramis' legs. They're smooth, gliding up his thighs while Porthos crawls back on top of him. On the way to his mouth, he licks his boyfriend's stomach, sucks on his nipples until Aramis arches his back. Hands are firm on his hips, holding him down. Aramis whimpers at it all.

 

“What are you waiting for then?” he taunts Porthos.

 

“I don't think I want to, though. Not so fast,” he adds because the next whimper is a desperate one. “You've been quite a tease after all.”

 

It's his turn to become one, too since he rocks down a little, and almost cries out loud when their over-stimulated cocks brush together for the first time that night. Aramis' body jerks up underneath Porthos. He wants to wrap his legs around the other's waist. Instead, Porthos draws back once more, sits on his heels, mesmerized by his fingers roaming Aramis' chest. He loves how Aramis pants and how he looks up at him with pure lust. He's gone back to stroking his own cock, ignored by Porthos for the time being.

 

Aramis does believe he could come just by the way Porthos stares at him, observes every stroke.

 

“Besides, you told me _really_ interesting things on the way home. I'd very much like to see them come to life,” Porthos admits.

 

Aramis' cock twists in his fist, leaks some more at the command. His lips are on Porthos' after he's sat up to wrap himself around Porthos, hands in his hair, pulling. They trap their cocks between their two bodies. Only the promise of something better to come can make them end this delicious friction.

 

“What happens if I tease again?”

 

Porthos' answer is a growl.

 

“You won't.”

 

Arams buries his head against Porthos' shoulder, licks the skin and rubs their chests together, confident that Porthos is correct in his statement. Aramis isn't sure he could even sustain more teasing himself even though he'll wonder later what Porthos would have done to him if it'd been necessary.

 

“God, Aramis,” Porthos gasps because there are fingers grabbing his shoulders, the hot and sweaty skin there before they meet for another heated kiss.

 

It's over too soon after Aramis moves away, blinded and transfixed by Porthos' body, all ready and being offered to him to please. Then he waits on the floor at the edge of the bed, waits for Porthos to sit comfortably so that Aramis can kneel properly between his open legs.

 

Porthos reclines on his elbows, mesmerized and lost in the feeling of his boyfriend's lips trailing up the inside of his thigh: short and light pecks while his right hand grazes Porthos' other thigh, up and down, up and down yet never touching where Porthos desperately wants him to. It's getting so steamy in the room that Porthos almost shouts.

 

“Aramis!” He drawls it out instead, in a husky voice, as he grips the sheets when a mouth kisses his cockhead. It tastes salt and Aramis' tongue swirls around it all, lips wetting Porthos' cock as he swallows as much as he can, eager and encouraged by his boyfriend's small moans. His tongue laps and licks, he bobs his head hastily, goes so fast that Porthos feels like his heart couldn't take more.

 

His mind is foggy and he puts one steady hand on the nape of Aramis' neck. He doesn't trust himself to not push him more if he were to put it on Aramis' head. This would ruin everything and stop it all altogether. Aramis doesn't mind -even _loves_ \- being handled roughly and yet, being forced to swallow more is the thing he hates.

 

Porthos' cock pulses in his mouth on the rhythm that Aramis chooses. He can feel his boyfriend's body moving without Porthos actually meaning to. He thrashes a little on the side of the bed now that fingers work his wet and over-excited cock as Aramis bends his head, crawls a bit closer so he can focus on Porthos' balls. It's an absolutely not quiet business: Aramis makes slurpy and obscene sounds as if they were the most amazing thing he's ever been given to taste.

 

Porthos' entire body tingles and shudders because of the ripples of desire and excitement which swirl around his stomach and his heart. Nails dig into Aramis' skin, making him moan louder.

 

“Jesus Christ, Aramis! Stop! Please, stop!” Porthos begs since he knows he will come soon and he definitely has plans for much more before the night ends.

 

Aramis looks smug as he licks his lips deliberately, strokes Porthos' cock one more time then rises slightly so he can reach the other's mouth. There, he lets him have a sample of his own scent, which doesn't deter Porthos at all. Instead, his hand travels down Aramis' back, settles on his ass to give it a playful slap. Aramis revels in it, in his gasp being swallowed by Porthos' kiss.

 

“Who's the one teasing now?” Aramis inquires.

 

“I don't tease.”

 

To prove his point, he pulls Aramis closer until he almost stumbles upon him. Both of Porthos' hands are on his ass, fingers going for his hole without hesitation. They're strong and they mean business. Aramis cries out with pleasure, grabs Porthos' head to cradle it to his chest. He also cannot help but rut incoherently as one finger pushes inside, curls and doesn't stop moving.

 

In an effort to avoid collapsing completely, Aramis braces one knee on the bed, offering a much better access to his boyfriend but also letting him have a solid grip on his hip. Aramis feels on fire, heart beating too fast from what is being done to him and what he knows will soon come as well.

 

“Porthos...more.You need to give me more.”

 

His boyfriend complies happily and adds another finger, bends them while his body jerks after Aramis has completely straddled him. They crash their lips together, trap their cocks against hot flesh, pre-come smeared on Aramis' stomach.

 

“I need this,” he specifies, grazing Porthos' cock. “Inside. Now.”

 

“Are you sure? You're still a bit...”

 

“It doesn't matter. I don't care. Your cock. I want it. Now,” Aramis commands in a raspy voice, almost clutching it too tight in his fist. Porthos groans at the pressure but the desperation and eagerness from his boyfriend also make him snort. He nevertheless whimpers under Aramis' soft ministrations.

 

Then Aramis rises a little on the bed, grabs Porthos' cock again and without breaking eye contact he sinks back onto it. The move is so erotic and their faces display such a sheer look of ecstasy that Aramis' cock does leak more against Porthos' stomach, rubbing against it with each movement that they make.

 

“Ah, fuck!” Porthos screams out.

 

“Precisely.”

 

There's a tinkle in Aramis' eyes as he responds, but they cannot talk much after that. The silence is filled with loud breathing and the happy noises that Aramis utters everytime he moves or when Porthos makes him come back down on him or when he helps him stay steady. Aramis is shuddering from it all, shaking from his pleasure. Porthos could kiss his life away because he's a picture of perfection.

 

The sound of sticky and sweaty flesh grinding and colliding is all they can hear, it surrounds them and makes them forget everything else but what they are sharing together.

 

Aramis' eyes flutter close more often than not, his arms tight around Porthos' neck who is leaning back more and more on the bed until he falls down totally, his boyfriend on top of him. They moan loudly in unison because the new position allows Porthos cock deeper inside Aramis. It stretches him, such a sweet pain reverberating under his skin, touching spots which make Aramis feel like Porthos is infiltrating his conscience, his entire body and all of his thoughts. He couldn't be closer to him, physically and emotionally.

 

The flesh under the hands pressing on Porthos' chest is real, so are the nipples Aramis rubs and pinches once in a while, delighting in witnessing how much the other enjoys it. There's also real flesh clutching Aramis' hips, likely to leave bruises but Porthos won't budge. He can't. He has to hold on to his boyfriend, eyes staring straight at his half-open mouth, the white teeth, the pink tongue and the tiny moans coming from around it.

 

Aramis never stops grinding down, hardly slows his actions, rolls his hips with renewed energy. Hiw own cock finds much needed pressure from it all. And then Porthos's hips jerk up and he bends his legs. Aramis yells out, but not from pain. He loves it. There's sweat on his brow as well as come all over Porthos' stomach once he's reached his orgasm. And yet, he cannot stop moving. He doesn't want to.

 

It's difficult to breathe around his climax, though so Porthos rolls them around effortlessly. It's his turn to fuck into Aramis now, the other's foot firm on his ass, hands clutching his shoulders, lips sucking on Porthos' ear.

 

“You're so hot,” Aramis starts praising him. Each word seems hotter than the previous one and Porthos gets drunk on them. “You made me feel so good. You're _making_ me feel so good. Porthos. Give it to me. Please.”

 

A few more dirty words are all that Porthos requires to come with a long groan after he ruts erratically. He pins Aramis to the bed as he collapses on top of him, both sticky with come and sweat. It's followed by a long kiss while Aramis' hand in his hair pets it, soothes him. Porthos peppers short kisses all over his face until he moves away and lies on the bed by Aramis' side.

 

Their chests are both heaving with short, uneven breaths.

 

“You know what would be nice now?” Aramis asks out loud, and doesn't wait for an answer. “A hot bath.” His hand is still in Porthos' hair, unwilling to move, lazy and sleepy. Porthos moans with contentment.

 

“That would be heaven.”

 

Unfortunately, since his shower doesn't allow for such fantaisies, he settles for gathering his remaining strength to collect a hot towel to cleam themselves up of the mess they just made. Porthos finishes the job by one sweet kiss close to Aramis' belly button.

 

Aramus is lounging on the bed, delighted from what happened, from all the little attentions Porthos gives him and from how loving he also is with him.

 

“That was good,” Aramis thinks out loud. Porthos nods.

 

“We'll have to do it again.”

 

There are stars in their eyes as they throw the comforter on top of them both. They're so comfortable on the edge of slumber. The new position led to new sensations that they are all still processing and relishing in. It's amazing how much they can still learn from one another despite having been together for almost a year.

 

“I was thinking...,” Porthos starts.

 

“That we should rest and try something else later?” Porthos snorts at Aramis' suggestion, his nails raking up and down the other's arm.

 

“Yes, that too. But...now that you're about to start an actual job, well...perhaps we could find another place? A bigger one? One that would match us both?”

 

Aramis raises his head in surprise, not having expected the conversation to go this way. Not after sex. He hasn't stopped feeling the side-effects of his powerful orgasm and he cannot form any coherent or serious thoughts yet. Still, he tries.

 

“You love this place.”

 

“You loved yours, too. It's only an appartment after all. And besides, now that you've mentioned taking baths...”

 

“That would indeed be paradise,” Aramis has to agree, grinning lazily up at his boyfriend.

 

“So it should be high on our list. Once we actually get around to it.”

 

“Top priority. After me, of course.”

 

Aramis then proceeds to climb on top of Porthos as he says so, his chin resting on the other's chest and sparkling eyes looking up as he yawns happily.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Porn Without (real) Plot. Who's complaining?


	9. Spring (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Italics" = Spanish

**March**

 

March is an exciting month for Aramis. The job interview Porthos managed to find for him with one of the most prestigious publishing houses in the country was successful and he got the job. He was nervous on the first day, but not anymore. Everyone is very nice to him, helpful and happy to provide any advice requested. Besides, he is now paid to do what he enjoys greatly, that is do more research on weapons and their use in literature.

 

From a more practical point of view, for the first few days, he's busy wrapping his head around the new schedule, his trip to work and how much time he actually needs to be ready in the morning. It had never happened before as he was unemployed and would lounge in bed while Porthos was going through his morning routine. It's changed now and neither of them had thought about it.

 

That's how one day, Aramis takes too long to shower and monopolizes the bathroom without really meaning to. It's the first time it's happened and it frustrates Porthos a bit. He's upset that he has to leave without a shower, even though he'll later take one at the gym. Aramis is absolutely mortified by his thoughtless attitude.

 

The first thing he does that evening is apologize to Porthos, repeating how deeply sorry he is. His boyfriend isn't angry anymore. As far as he's concerned, it's another reason to find another place to live. A bigger one. One with a larger bathroom in which two adults can fit at once. And one where there would be enough room to store all their clothes instead of piling them on chairs or even on the floor.

 

“And we'll master our new schedule soon. I'm certain of it,” Porthos says to end the discussion. Aramis smiles at him, rolls the sleeves of his shirt.

 

“Thank you again. For giving me the chance to get this job. I'm loving it.” As he lets Aramis kiss him, sink against him, Porthos can't help thinking that he knew it, that he had known it the moment Athos had mentioned the contact he might have.

 

While they cannot really look for another place to move in right now, because French bureaucracy is a pain, they settle for buying extra furniture to at least have the feeling that they don't live in a stock room. They take a trip to Ikea one afternoon with Tréville who provides the car. Aramis decides to treat him to a delicious homemade dinner to thank him for his trouble.

 

Aseembling Ikea furniture proves to be tricky and Tréville ends up staying later than intended. They have to take down Porthos' previous closet before they can even think about fitting the new one in the bedroom. But when it's done, the room looks far better than it was with bags and suitcases overflowing with Aramis' clothes, making it look like he was on a holiday. As a matter of fact, the living room is also crammed with boxes, which make it seem as if they've _both_ just moved in. It's a mess.

 

By the end of the afternoon, everything is done, and so is Porthos who has gone to have a shower. He's worked out a sweat, cursing the instructions and the damn tools.

 

Aramis is comfortable around Tréville now, but it helps that he is dressed casually. They've had dinner a couple of times since they first met for Porthos' birthday in November and they have more things to talk about.

 

“That's the infamous child,” Tréville mentions, pointing at the framed picture at the centre of the dining table. Aramis nods proudly.

 

“Mati, yes. Porthos was wonderful with him.”

 

“I've seen pictures.” He knew his son would be nothing short of amazing, in spite of his doubts. Aramis gazes fondly at the photo like he always does while Tréville examines it closely.

 

Starting a new job was stressful nonetheless, so many new things to remember. It's been very demanding as well so their Friday nights are moments he looks forward to even more than he did before. Mati loves Porthos, it's plain in their interactions. They would probably be the best of friends if they saw each other in person more often. It's been more than three months since Christmas so Aramis hopes they can visit for the little boy's fifth birthday in May.

 

He goes to retrieve a beer for Tréville in the fridge and grabs some Coke from himself. Granted, it's not the best substitute to a cigarette and yet Aramis is satisfied with his progress. He's managed to reduce the number of cigarettes he'd usually smoke in a day, even though he still hasn't quit entirely. Yet, Porthos keeps on teasing him.

 

Aramis' phone rings before Porthos can join them again. The caller ID tells him it's Anne and it makes him uneasy at once. She hardly ever calls him; it's expensive so for her to do so on a Monday night when they skyped only days before tells Aramis that something is not quite right. He almost drops his drink in his haste to answer. He forgets about Tréville as he doesn't even apologize for the disturbance.

 

“ _Hello?”_

 

“ _Hi. It's me. Is it a bad time?”_

 

“ _Nope. We're just assembling some new furniture. Is something wrong?”_ Something has to be and her voice confirms it before she tells him the entire story.

 

“ _We're about to leave the hospital.”_

 

“ _What?”_ Aramis shouts. He feels faint for a second, the room spins around him and there are bright white spots behind his eyelids. His attitude must scare his guest a little. _“Where's Mati? What's happened? Who's hurt?”_

 

“ _Calm down, Aramis.”_ Anne's voice is gentle but trembling. It doesn't calm Aramis at all. _“There was an incident at school but everybody's fine now.”_

 

“ _Is he here? Can I talk to him?”_ He sounds desperate and wild.

 

Porthos finds his boyfriend pacing the room frantically. Aramis looks on the verge of crying or bursting with anger, he's not certain, so Porthos has to inquire about the problem. The fact that Aramis is speaking in Spanish leaves no doubt about who is on the other end of the line. It puzzles him, too. There's no reply from Aramis, it's impossible to get a hold on him so he can settle down. He moves about too much, then stops abruptly when he hears his son's voice. That's when he sits on the couch, grabs a cushion and clutches it tightly.

 

“ _Papá?”_

 

“ _Mati? It's me, sweetie. What happened, buddy?”_

 

At first, all he can hear is sniffling and Anne shushing Mati.

 

“ _I falled on my arm. I have a green c...cast. It hurts.”_

 

Aramis' heart breaks in more than just two pieces at the news. He's far away, unable to comfort his child, to hold him close, to hug him and distract him from the pain he is obviously in. He refrains from yelling because it would only frighten Mati. Neither can he give in to weeping. He's the adult who has to be reassuring and strong so the boy will be brave.

 

“ _You're just like me when I met Mam_ _á_ _, then. Do you remember the story?”_ It's a romanticized one, keeping the worst details in the dark, but enough for Mati to understand that his parents used to be friends, always have, always will and that Heavens decided to give them this little bundle of joy to make their friendship even better. Except that it needed to take something back in exchange and Aramis also had a broken limb when he “met” Anne.

 

“ _Yes.”_

 

“ _You're so courageous, Mati. Papá loves you so much. You're a brave little soldier, aren't you?”_

 

“ _Yes.”_

 

“ _You'll be like a hero now at school. All the girls will want to draw on your cast. It's going to be beautiful.”_

 

Aramis amazes both Anne who can hear the conversation and himself. He's speaking in soft and cheerful tones whereas all he wants is to know what really happened and get mad at the ones responsible. He clutches the cushion more strongly, cannot help but shrug off the hand Porthos had put on his shoulder. He's quick to mouth an apology to him because Porthos does look troubled when they make eye contact.

 

“ _Papá loves you so very much, Mati. You're the best. Can you give the phone back to Mamá?”_

 

“ _Bye, Pap_ _á_ _.”_ There's more sniffling and shuffling then Anne is back on the line.

 

“ _A cast? What the hell happened, Anne?”_ Aramis goes from sweet to angry in a second. Not at her, though, and she knows it.

 

“ _Apparently they were playing during recess and one of the boys pushed him off a swing.”_

 

Aramis groans, cannot stay still and stands up. He rakes his hair before he quickly explains to his clueless audience that Mati is hurt. The look on Porthos' face says it all and must be a quite accurate mirror of Aramis'.

 

“ _The doctor said it's a clean cut,”_ Anne explains. _“So it shouldn't take too long to heal.”_

 

“ _Why didn't you call me before?”_

 

“ _Because it would have been worse, only giving you pieces of information and letting you worry for hours.”_ She's correct, Aramis realizes as he breathes out slowly. He understands and agrees, even though it doesn't lessen his own pain. He's physically hurting to know that his son is injured. There are tears in his eyes that he refuses to shed. Instead, he focuses on what would comfort them all.

 

“ _I should come down and be with you.”_

 

“ _That would be great, Aramis but...you've only just started working. Will they let you take a few days off so soon?”_ His heart drops at the question.

 

“ _Probably not,”_ Aramis sighs out.

 

“ _I'm sorry, Aramis.”_ She can hear how upset he sounds. How unfair the entire situation is. She's been worried and angry as well and yet her son is sitting next to her on the backseat of the car and she will be there to nurse him back to complete health, to cuddle him, to soothe the pain. His father won't.

 

“ _It's not your fault.”_ Aramis tries to breathe out evenly. He can feel rage bubbling deep inside of him as he retreats to the kitchen, far from Porthos and Tréville's whispers. _“Where were the teachers? Was nobody watching the children? They're too small to be left unsupervised.”_

 

“ _The director said they only looked away for a minute.”_

 

“ _That's not a good enough excuse!”_ It's a yell in the otherwise quiet appartment.

 

“ _I agree. And I told them so but...”_

 

“ _I'll call them! They need to know it's not okay because that's unacceptable! He broke his arm!”_

 

“ _My father also gave them a piece of his mind when he collected Mati at school. I was in a meeting and didn't get the call right away,”_ Anne clarifies. Aramis can hear the guilt in her words even if she has no reason to feel this way. _“He's driving us home right now.”_

 

Aramis is thankful for it, thankful that her parents help and assist her how ever they can, in spite of their opinion about him. He's still seething, but a little less now.

 

“ _Thank him for me, please.”_

 

He listens as she passes the message and cannot help the hopeful tremor in his heart at the reply.

 

“ _He said it's not problem.”_

 

Aramis braces himself against the wall, forehead resting against it. He's at a loss of what to do next. Jumping on a plane is what he should do. New responsibilities prevent him from doing so. He _hates_ his life sometimes.

 

“ _Aramis?”_

 

“ _Yes, I'm still here. How much is he hurting?”_

 

“ _Less now. They gave him some mild painkillers and a lollypop,”_ she adds. Mati squeals somewhere in the background that it tastes like cherry, which makes Aramis laugh in spite of the seriousness of the situation.

 

“ _Aww, I'm jealous.”_ It's only gibberish that he can't make out after that.

 

“ _He says he'll share it with you next time,”_ Anne says, unaware of how much more Aramis' heart is breaking, wondering when “next time” will be.

 

“ _Sounds like a plan,”_ he tells her instead.

 

After hanging up, Aramis almost collapses to the floor with despair, anger, and sadness. Damn his intention to quit smoking. He rummages in his jacket until he finds a lighter and a cigarette he can light.

 

“What's happened?” Porthos inquires as soon as Aramis walks back towards them. Aramis scratches his forehead, blows smoke and waves his hand around to make it go away. His boyfriend knows better than to tell him not do so inside. Not tonight. Porthos has hardly understood anything about the conversation, but Aramis' attitude is enough to make him aware that something serious and bad occurred. Aramis leans against the solid hand on his shoulder.

 

“Mati broke his arm. At school.”

 

The hand on his shoulder reaches for the nape of his neck, traps Aramis against Porthos' chest. It traps him in strong arms as he forgets about his father who must be watching. Aramis manages not to sob and instead draws strength in his boyfriend's embrace.

 

“I'm sorry,” he eventually apologizes to Tréville after they part. His eyes are red and his lips are quivering a bit. The older man won't hear any of it, sees how shaken Aramis appears to be, which makes him decide that they better call it a night. Aramis is too distressed to be mortified about his behaviour.

 

Porthos walks his father back to his car, only to be polite because he's itching to be back with Aramis and learn more. When he returns to their appartment, it's to find his boyfriend on the couch, knees drawn to his chest, arms around them. He rocks a little, chews on his lips. He's pliant while Porthos gathers him in his arms again so Aramis is sprawled on top of him as they lie down. Fingers smoothe the long black hair.

 

“His arm, eh?” Aramis nods, closes his eyes for a second. “Nothing else?” Aramis shakes his head, grabs a handful of Porthos' tee-shirt. “It could be worse then.” Porthos hopes these words are the right ones to appease Aramis.

 

“I want to go to him and I can't,” Aramis confesses. Porthos kisses the top of his head lightly.

 

“I'm sorry.”

 

There's nothing else to add, nothing which would lessen _that_ pain. It's worse than not seeing Mati for months at end, something they are used to. Something Aramis dislikes but overcomes more easily. This time, he grows more miserable with each passing day. There are endless calls to Spain, they skype almost every night. When they do, Mati is often smiling as he always does, which is a good indication that he must not be hurting as much as he did on the first day. The only problem he complains about is that the cast renders his every move awkward.

 

On the other hand, Porthos battles with the feeling that Aramis thinks of his son more than he thinks about his boyfriend. Most of the moments they get to spend together are solely used to contact Madrid. At times, it would seem that Aramis is ignoring him, although he is totally oblivious to how much Porthos suffers from it.

 

Porthos keeps it to himself for a while since he understands what's prompted the changes in Aramis' attitude and obviously, he would have been fine with them if it hadn't lasted for so long. He loses his patience one night when they had plans to go see a show with Flea and Charon, and Aramis decides that he'd rather stay at home.

 

“You're the one who said you'd like to go,” Porthos says, careful but nonetheless cold. Aramis merely shrugs.

 

“That was before.”

 

“Mati will survive if you don't call tonight. I doubt it makes him heal faster anyway.”

 

“It makes _me_ feel better. I can't be with him so at least let me have this. There'll be other shows. They're playing it until June.”

 

“Well, I wanted to go tonight.” Porthos's aware he's the one who sounds like a child now but he's been neglected and only demands a little attention.

 

“My son is hurt. It's more important,” Aramis stresses out, can hear how defensive Porthos is getting.

 

“Than me?”

 

“I never said that.”

 

“That's the way you've been acting, though.”

 

“What do you mean?” Aramis turns around from the sink where he was washing the dishes. The statement fazes him, so does Porthos' firm and angry stance a few feet away. His arms are crossed on his chest, dark eyes are set firmly on Aramis, the hint of anger in them.

 

“Simply that for the past two weeks, I've been more of a roommate than an actual boyfriend.” It's liberating to voice his discomfort out loud, to stare harder at Aramis who gapes in confusion and attempts to remember the exact moment he's started to screw up.

 

Porthos is aware that being jealous of Mati is a shameful emotion to have. It's never happened before because Aramis used to have a great balance in his life, handling both worlds like a pro. Then it's shifted because of the accident and Porthos is worried that it will remain like this forever. He refuses to accept it. It's better to shake Aramis when there's still time even if it means that they have to fight.

 

“You barely talk about your new job anymore and it used to thrill you. You hardly inquires about any of our friends or ask if something is wrong with me or the gym.”

 

“Is something wrong?” Aramis gasps out, terrified that he's missed something huge.

 

“Everything's perfectly fine. It's just an example. The point is, all you talk about is Mati. Which I usually like, but you've got to admit that it's becoming ridiculous.”

 

“That's not fair, Porthos...”

 

“Now, I know he's the most important person in the world for you and...”

 

“You are, too,” Aramis quickly cuts him off. It's essential for him to make sure that Porthos doesn't believe otherwise. “In a different manner but I love you, too. Deeply.”

 

“And I get it that his arm was broken and that you're here while he's over there but you _chose_ this life. _You_ decided to stay here, no matter all the problems which might happen. I love you for it, Aramis. You are, without doubt, the most selfless person I've ever met. I love you. I truly do. What you did, it may be the most meaninful action someone has ever made to incidentally stay close to me. I love you,” Porthos repeats, keeping his eyes on his boyfriend as he strides towards him to grab both of his hands.

 

“But I don't want to be a supporting character in your life. I don't mind for a couple of days because being you must be excruciating right now. This I can do. I just can't do it forever. I won't be able to bear it. Because I love you and I want you to include me in everything. I don't want to be in the background.”

 

Aramis is shaking in his arms, cluesless about what to reply, sorry to be hurting Porthos, unable to balance his life correctly. He knew that it couldn't last. All of his relationships are doomed because of his attitude and his inability to work around his family. He ruins everything.

 

He's found the most amazing man on Earth, kind and funny and generous and a bit insecure under all these muscles and the cheeky -even sometimes sassy- behaviour. He's managed to make himself feel comfortable and safe with Porthos, enjoying all the little details of his life, of their life together. Trusting him, letting him in, loving him like he's never done it before.

 

That's why he refuses to cry in his arms tonight, he refuses to end it like this, because Mati will be better soon. He has his mother to care for him and Aramis has precious moments to look forward to. His son is not going anywhere, even though if he could come to his father, Aramis would be ecstatic. But that's not a thought worth dwelling on.

 

There's a fierceness in Aramis' heart once he decides that he's not willing to let Porthos go away. He loves him back a lot, too much perhaps, so he's determined to fix his mistakes.

 

“I'll text Anne,” he decides, drawing back a bit to look at Porthos. His features soften at the words, the pressure of his hands on Aramis' back grows gentler. “I'll tell her we'll skype on Friday as usual.”

 

Surprisingly, it doesn't hurt that much to think that it'll be four days till he can make sure that his son hasn't suffered other injuries.

 

“Thank you.” Aramis nods, thoughtful and tries to enjoy their evening, for his boyfriend's sake.

 

He also does prowess refraining from talking too much about Mati during the next days. Instead, he focuses on paying incredible attention to Porthos, on catering to his every need. He treats him out to restaurants and turns him into a soft hot mess in the bedroom. Porthos does feel a bit bad about it all. Not for voicing his fears to the other. For making Aramis feel like he must make up for his supposedly mistake.

 

* * *

**April**

 

April marks the one-year anniversary of their first meeting at Athos'. They've come so far from their flirty evening and what could have simply led to a one-night stand. They celebrate quietly because their relationship has been tensed lately, with Aramis unsure how to give Porthos the same attention he gives to his injured son.

 

So they stay late at the gym after it's closed with sushis and Chinese takeway. It's a carpet picnic in the fitness room, lights on as if they were in a nightclub, soft music and wine.

 

“That's one hell of a date,” Aramis hums out around his drink. They're sitting on the floor, barefoot, Porthos on the other side of the food. “I can't believe we never thought of it before.”

 

“I did. But it's where I work and I was reluctant to do things in here which would distract me from my classes every time I would do my job.”

 

Aramis smirks, knowning full well what “things” his boyfriend is thinking about.

 

“What made you change your mind?”

 

“We didn't want to go out and being home....Never mind,” Porthos cuts himself short, lets it hang in the air, unfinished, because he doesn't want to ruin the night. Aramis notices nonetheless, fumbles with a chopstick in the uncomfortable silence. Then he downs his glass of wine and crawls towards Porthos, kneels in front of him.

 

“I love you, Porthos. With all my heart. It's been the most awesome year of my life. For so many wonderful reasons and all thanks to you. You make everything better and I'm sorry I screwed up.” He gives him one kiss. Porthos shakes his head.

 

“I was being an idiot.”

 

“You were being realistic. I was wrong to focus only on Mati.”

 

“You had every right to.”

 

“It didn't mean I had to stop caring about you. Which I never did, by the way. But I'm aware that's how it looked.”

 

In a week, Aramis has had time to analyze his behaviour after Mati's accident. He didn't sleep much, was busy with work and indeed hardly showed Porthos how much he meant to him. Which was a spectacular mistake.

 

“You're precious to me, Porthos. In ways that nobody else is. These feelings belong to you alone and I'm so grateful that I've found you and you've accepted me.”

 

Aramis goes for another longer kiss as he sits down properly, cradles Porthos' face with his hands, deepens the kiss. Porthos anchors himself around Aramis' waist, draws reassurance from all the sweet and truthful words.

 

He's always been afraid, all his life, of people abandoning him. And with Aramis, it terrifies him. It may not be heathly and could potentially harm him a lot, but Porthos doesn't care. He loves this man to pieces, with greater force than he's never done anybody else.

 

“I love you, too. And one day, I'm certain I'll love Mati as much as you do. I want to. But... Everybody leaves, always has and...”

 

“Not always. I'm here to stay.” It's a blunt declaration, one which makes Porthos' heart jump in his chest until it settles on a new, clearer, brighter path. Aramis smiles kindly, rubs his thumb back and forth on Porthos' cheek. Porthos' fingers deep into the soft curls on the other's head, now so long that Aramis sometimes has to tie his hair back. He gives one quiet moan at the sensation. Porthos kisses Aramis' thumb once it rests on his lips.

 

“If you want me. With the mistakes I'll make and...”

 

“I make my share, too,” Porthos admits. Aramis nods.

 

“And I'll cook and you'll have to drag me outside to exercise.”

 

“It's for your own good. So you don't gain too much weight since you've quit smoking.” He couldn't sound prouder.

 

“But on Sunday mornings? That's unfair,” Aramis whines, which isn't helped by Porthos laughing out loud, making fun of his pouting face. He pats Aramis' stomach, still rock-hard because fencing is a great work-out as well.

 

“It's just that sometimes, Mati comes in the picture,” Aramis adds hesitantly.

 

“I'm aware. I don't mind it. I enjoy it. Except when it makes it feel like I'm living with a stranger. I never want it to happen again.”

 

“It won't. I swear.” Aramis is resolute. “You're too exceptional for me to jeopardize it again.”

 

“I love you very much. And I'm glad we talked this through.”

 

“So am I. After all, it wouldn't do if Mati made his stepfather miserable, now, would it?”

 

He says so with a cheeky grin that Porthos swallows with his mouth, with his tongue once the first shock has passed. Mati is important for Aramis, he's never doubted it, and Porthos likes him. He also knows that he doesn't want to be only a cool friend. He wants to be there for him, help and play. Although he never said so, because Aramis never asked, Porthos was saddened by the broken arm and wished he could have provided better assistance than what they did.

 

Aramis is laughing in their kiss while Porthos rocks him backwards until Aramis is on his back. He rubs Porthos' chest under his tee-shirt, half-singing and half-humming the lyrics of the song on speaker.

 

“So, enlighten me, Sir,” he whispers playfully against Porthos' lips. “What _things_ did you have in mind for our private class tonight?”

 

“That depends. How much cash did you bring?”

 

Aramis gives a fake gasp before he comes up with a reasonable answer. Laughter is still bubbling in his throat. The tinkle in Porthos' eyes isn't helping.

 

“I didn't bring any! I'm sorry. But I'm sure we'll find some other arrangements.” He wiggles, arms around Porthos' neck, pulling him close.

 

By the time Porthos draws back to take a breath, they are one big laughing mess on the floor, sharing sloppy kisses and clearly unable to remain serious. And loving it.

 

* * *

 

Aramis' birthday also falls shortly after their anniversary. He didn't share the information the previous year since they had only known each other for a few days.

 

“Still. You should have,” Porthos had said when he learned about it months ago.

 

“I didn't want to make you uncomfortable or feeling like you had to go out of your way,” Aramis had argued.

 

This time, though, Porthos has decided that they will do something extra special to make up for missed opportunities.

 

They're back to their usual selves now, dedicated to one another and Aramis professing his love even more than he did before, which is an incredible feat in itself. He's been paying Porthos so many compliments. Not that his boyfriend is complaining. It's Porthos who always instigates conversations about Mati because he's determined to show Aramis how much he wants it all, how they can make it work. And they do. Better now than before the little boy's accident.

 

His birthday falls on a Wednesday and Human Ressources makes sure that there are chocolates on Aramis' desk when he arrives at work. He's elated at the gesture. So are his colleagues who indulge on the treats, too.

 

Aramis facetimes with Mati over lunch since he's in Paris with Porthos and that it's with _him_ that he will spend the evening. It's only natural and he was quite adamant about it. Porthos was pretty pleased by the decision.

 

“ _Show me your battle wound,”_ Aramis asks his son after he's wished him a happy birthday. Green fills the sceen, the colour of the dirty cast that he shouldn't have to wear for much longer. Mati giggles.

 

“ _There's room for you to write on it!”_ He shows his father the specific spot. The screen wobbles while he directs his mother to move and get a better angle.

 

“ _I should hope that next time I'll see you, you'll be rid of it!”_ Aramis has decided that he wouldn't dwell on negative thoughts today and enjoy it to its fullest. Mati giggles again, looks up above the phone, probably at his mother, his tongue sticking out.

 

“ _It doesn't hurt anymore, does it?”_

 

“ _It's itchy!”_

 

“ _Ask Mamá to scratch it for you then.”_

 

“ _Hahahaha,”_ comes the faint sound of Anne's dry chuckle.

 

“ _Did you eat cake?”_

 

“ _I had some chocolate.”_

 

He's in the staff room at present so he cannot show him the box, even though Aramis doubts that there are any left. It's a quiet space to relax and have lunch, but he's forgotten his headphones so his conversation isn't private. No matter how much he tries to keep his voice down, Mati doesn't know how to do it. The colleagues close to him keep on cooing at Mati's faces and his laughter. Aramis couldn't be any prouder.

 

“He's cute,” one of the girls mentions.

 

“He takes after his father,” Aramis replies cheekily, laughs out loud when Anne chimes in.

 

“Only because you haven't seen his mother,” she tuts. The co-worker startles at the French, blushes a little and retreats to her table after apologizing to Aramis who doesn't mind one bit.

 

“ _Where's Porfos?”_ Mati inquires, eager to monopolize the discussion.

 

“ _He's at work. Somewhere else. But you'll see him next week.”_ Both parents agreed that if they talked on the phone today, skyping two days later was unnecessary. Aramis cannot wait to tell Porthos the good news: one free Friday evening.

 

“ _In Paris?”_

 

“ _On the computer, yes. Next Friday.”_

 

“ _All right. Time to let Papá work. Say bye-bye Mati.”_

 

The little boy fills the phone with kisses and waves and Aramis does about the same then the screen becomes a blur until Anne finds the button to hang up and ends the call. Aramis reclines in his seat, sighs out dreamily, pretty content with his day so far.

 

He's also on cloud nine at home, ready to go out and celebrate with his boyfriend. Porthos won't say where he's taking him, only that they have to dress up. The sight of Porthos in a suit and wearing a tie is miles away from how he usually looks. It does things to Aramis.

 

“I've something for you before we head out,” Porthos remembers. “From Athos.”

 

“Really?” Aramis is quite surprised that Porthos' best friend remembered his birthday. Does he even know?

 

“Yes. He actually gave it to me weeks ago but I figured it could wait for a special occasion.”

 

“How did you manage to hide it in here?” To be honest, the entire appartment is so messy, it totally lacks room so it might not have been difficult to keep it out of range.

 

“I didn't. It was in my office. But I agree. I don't know where we'll find space to display it. Anyway. Here you go.”

 

Athos always carries a camera around, an actual one, any time they go out, be it in the city or in the countryside. Aramis is pleasantly surprised by the large frame Porthos sets on the table so they can examine it together. The left side of it is a black and white photograph taken in November at Athos' country estate. Aramis had fallen asleep in an armchair after a long hike through the woods. His head is buried in the crook of Porthos' neck, he clutches one of his boyfriend's arms strongly and there's a large hand splayed on his stomach. Their legs are hidden under a quilt.

 

Aramis finds himself so peaceful while sleeping, face slack and he wonders if the picture has been photoshopped or if they always make such a remarkable couple.

 

Porthos is smiling in his hair, the corners of his mouth lifting up, his eyes closed as well. He remembers opening them sharply the second after Athos took the picture, disturbed by the clicking of the device.

 

The right side of the picture is actually a painting, warm, colourful in its shades of orange, red, yellow and white. It's a burning fire surrounding them, soft flames barely licking the edges of the actual photograph, hardly invading it.

 

Aramis adores it.

 

“It's exceptional,” he decides. Porthos agrees. A couple of weeks ago, when they were struggling with the problems in their relationship, he would stare at it for long minutes. He would draw strength from the knowledge that even back in the fall, he loved Aramis and Aramis loved him. It's written all over the picture Athos so incredibly captured for them.

 

They'll worry about where to hang it later, though, as they have to go to the restaurant. Aramis cannot stop praising Porthos once he realizes he's booked a table in one of the greatest luxury hotels of the city and that an amazing chef is going to cook for them. Porthos revels in the stars clouding Aramis' eyes, in the crinkles he constantly displays because he cannot stop smiling.

 

They do feel a little out of place among all these obviously wealthy people. And Aramis almost chokes on his dessert when he sees the check, even though he should have expected it.

 

“That's a ridiculous amount of money for a meal.”

 

“I know. So I hope you savoured it. It won't happen again anytime soon.” Porthos sounds deadpan serious yet he rubs Aramis' leg under the table, grins at his own joke. He's happy to treat him out to dinner. You don't turn 29 every day and the last year of a decade should be magnificent. Unforgettable.

 

That's why Aramis is eager to thank him as soon as they step back into the appartment. Jackets fall to the floor, ties are undone, shirts are opened hastily. Their moves are too frantic and make them miss most of the buttons. They share sloppy kisses, muffled gasps and there's one firm arm around Aramis' waist to prevent him from tripping over his shoes.

 

Once he's found his balance again, he pushes Porthos on the bed so he's lying down, only wearing his underwear. There's no mistaking the obvious erection he's sporting and that Aramis strokes gently through the thin fabric, all the while kissing his boyfriend softly.

 

“I know what I want for my birthday,” he declares.

 

“Surprise me.”

 

“You.” Porthos snorts, unsurprised, and then it turns into a moan because of Aramis' hand cupping his erection, rubbing it efficiently. Liquid pools in his underwear.

 

Aramis smiles devilishly as he blows kisses all the way down Porthos' chest, paying special attention to the sensitive skin of his stomach. He mouths at the hard-on, sucks on the boxers, makes Porthos jerk and groan, throw his hand over his face. There's something extremely hot about Aramis giving him head without actually touching his cock.

 

“Hips up,” Aramis eventually commands so he can take off Porthos' underwear quickly. He lets him kick it off to the floor before he resumes his action.

 

His tongue is greedy, circling, teasing, doing it all in small movements. They are nonetheless quick and Porthos feels a fire burning deep inside of him. He's unable to say where it's started, though. It's everywhere at once. So is Aramis. His fingertips press gingerly on his cock, around it, on his balls. He grazes, clutches, swallows, licks, makes the most pleased noises even if they clearly lack grace. Instead, they're slurpy and dowright indecent. But so are Porthos' gasps at the hot lips on his balls, sucking the flesh on a completely different rhythm used by his boyfriend to stroke his cock.

 

The sharp and skilled tip of a tongue glides further down and Porthos cries out, perhaps louder than he intended once it's flat against his hole and Aramis redirects all his attention there.

 

It's surprised Porthos the first time because he wasn't used to the feeling but now, it may be the bedroom trick he looks forward to the most. Lips suck, relax him, make him feel like he's ready to combust. Thank God for the hand on his hip stopping him from jerking up. Yet, Porthos has always been too strong for Aramis and what he's doing to him sparks such desire, sends it crawling under his very skin. No matter where Aramis touches or kisses him, Porthos has to thrash out with pleasure. Aramis rejoices in the moans Porthos cannot help.

 

Too soon, he moves up Porthos' body, one hand still flat on the other's cock, fingers playing with his balls, dipping lower. But Aramis is the one shuddering as his own cock, unattended for the time being and yet very much hard, grazes Porthos' thigh.

 

“Be a darling and bend your leg for me,” Aramis whispers. Porthos clutches his eyes tight after Aramis has put the fingers which were worshipping his cock seconds earlier in his mouth. He licks them deliberately slowly and the sight is too much for Porthos. He grabs Aramis' hip and does as he's told.

 

Silky lips are on his jaw, on the side of his neck. It's not enough to distract him from the fingers probing at his hole. How easy it is for Aramis to push them inside, how concentrated he is, determined to give Porthos the best orgasm he's had in a long time.

 

“If you could see your face when I'm fucking you.” It's a hot whisper in Porthos' ear. The fingers are moving slowly for the time being, Aramis takes his time but cannot help rutting a little, trying to find some flesh to grind against. Porthos' fist closes on his cock, incapable of moving much. It's sufficient for Aramis. For now.

 

Porthos' leg is up on Aramis' shoulder, his ankle firmly anchored there and it's better for Porthos to move in sync with Aramis' fingers.

 

“It's a pretty face,” Aramis adds. “I could come just watching you.”

 

Porthos groans. Aramis' filthy mouth is driving him so far off the edge already.

 

“...watching you fuck my fingers. You're so hot...”

 

He curls his fingers inside of Porthos, gazes at his mouth hanging open but no sound coming out. There are tremors in his voice, ragged breaths.

 

“I wonder if you'd come just from them.” He's moving a little faster now, satisfies Porthos in that way. His other hand glides on Porthos' sweaty chest, gropes the skin there.

 

“Of if you'd need my mouth again. Warm and wet...” Aramis should stop because his words are also turning him on more. He feels pre-come soak Porthos' fingers on his cock as it pulses. His boyfriend growls, imagines the picture being painted rather well.

 

“And my tongue...” In saying so, he licks Porthos' neck. He swirls his tongue there, sucks hard and fast until Porthos arches his back, whimpers.

 

“That way I could suck you off for so long. Best birthday present ever.” Then he looks up at Porthos who is staring at him with burning desire, who raises his head so he can capture the other's dirty lips. He doesn't fight the hungry tongue pushing inside, nor the fingers curling so deep inside of him.

 

Aramis wants to stay in control, has done so good until now. He's almost gotten used to having his cock trapped between Porthos' still fingers. What he didn't expect is the subsequent and sudden stroking. And the orgasm which overtakes him by surprise. He shouts in Porthos' mouth, focuses on fucking him still, gathers what little remaining strength he can find to dip down and give his boyfriend the blowjob he'd teased about.

 

Porthos comes with a resounding yell, one arm shooting backwards to grab the headboard and hang on tight. His cock twitches in Aramis' mouth until he releases him only to kiss it thoroughly.

 

“Happy birthday to me,” he decides, overclouded with pleasure and Porthos' arms around his body after they've cleaned themselves up.

 

“I should take you out to fancy places more often,” Porthos jokes. Aramis nuzzles his shoulder, falls asleep with a smile on his face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so going to hell for that.


	10. Spring (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wouldn't blame Santi for gifting us with his beautiful Instagram but it was too cute and given the story I'm writing, I had to fit it in there somewhere. 
> 
> That's all. Enjoy the fluffiness!!

Even though they are free from their call to Spain, Aramis and Porthos spend their free Friday evening at home. They buy some wine and cheese for dinner, go through Aramis' boxes to find good books to settle down with. They dedicate a large portion of their time listing what they want for their next appartment. That is, space to walk after all the books and DVDs and CDs will have been put away on proper shelves instead of sitting there on the floor while Porthos digs into them. It has its perks, though, as he stumbles upon an old photograph stuck in the middle of a novel. It shows Aramis holding a ridiculously tiny baby Mati in the crook of his neck and Porthos has to stop to gaze at it because it's so beautiful in its simplicity. He unearths it to pass it to his boyfriend, telling him he really should frame it rather than using it as a bookmark and forgetting about it. Because he likes it.

 

“You're amazing you know,” Aramis replies to the compliment. He's been so afraid of losing him lately that anything that Porthos says which demonstrates as much he accepts Aramis' son and life makes Aramis want to cuddle with the other endlessly. After they get comfortable on the couch, Aramis half-lying on Porthos, he gives up his own reading to help the other turn the page of his book. It's the best recreation for tonight.

 

“Perhaps one day we'll do this in a bathtube,” Aramis ventures. He's been daydreaming about the appliance ever since he first mentioned it.

 

“Believe me, if we do get one, I won't need books to keep me entertained in it.” Aramis stretches happily.

 

“It' actually nice to have some free time tonight,” he ponders out loud. It hasn't happened a lot since he's moved to Paris. Perhaps only a handful of times. Porthos nods, agrees, but nonetheless understands the need for a weekly call. He's never complained about _that_. He wouldn't dream of it. As a matter of fact, he often goes out after saying hi to Mati and Anne so it's not really a disturbance for him. He isn't stuck at home like Aramis is.

 

Aramis wonders if now that Mati is a bit older and understands their situation a little better, they might be able to change and vary the day when they skype. The need for a routine isn't as essential as it used to be.

 

Before he can voice the idea to Porthos, the other's phone bips and signals a text. Aramis has to move to allow his boyfriend to squirm and reach the device. Porthos groans and then grins widely after reading the text. He manages to single-handedly type a quick reply.

 

“What is it?” Aramis asks, but Porthos is quick to put the phone away. He gathers Aramis in his arms again. He's soft and warm and comes easily as they fit so well together.

 

“Flea being a nuisance.” Porthos doesn't add anything in spite of Aramis' inquiring look. He's deeply focused on his book, fingers absent-mindedly rubbing the nape of Aramis' neck who only has to turn pages for Porthos whenever he's requested to do so. Otherwise, he traces lines on his boyfriend's tee-shirt, follows the design on it, lets the steady rise and fall of Porthos' chest relax him.

 

As much as he likes socializing, attending events and mingling in that fine city of arts, Aramis is a sucker for comfortable moments with only Porthos when they don't need to talk or do much to enjoy each other's company.

 

He loves the look on Porthos' face as he concentrates, purses his lips, squints, shakes his head or smirks at the characters' adventures printed on the pages. It's a marvel to behold, he's capable of displaying so many emotions, although tonight, Portho's attention is too disorganized for him to follow the story correctly. Never mind, he'll read it again after the weekend. For now, he's too distracted by the text, all that it encompasses, all that he has to hide to Aramis even if it's for his own good. The glow on Porthos' face doesn't come from liking the novel but from the promise of things to come.

 

“Do you think we could make pancakes tomorrow?” he requests as he marks his page and puts the fat book away. There's one nod on his chest.

 

“Yummy. We even have Nutella.”

 

“Since when?”

 

“Since I felt like buying cigarettes and settled for it instead.”

 

“In that case, I don't mind.”

 

Porthos tugs on Aramis' curls to get him to raise his head. His eyes are sleepy yet sparkling as his boyfriend dips down for a kiss. He's aware Aramis is quitting smoking for him more than he is doing it for himself. And also because he is growing tired of having to go down in the street to enjoy his cigarettes.

 

They're making compromises.

 

“I'll go and buy you a batch of _pains au chocolat_ as well”, Porthos decides.

 

“Excellent! A breakfast fit for Kings! I'm liking my birthday week. You're raising the stakes for when it'll be yours.”

 

“It's not a competition.” Porthos sounds serious, but gives him another kiss.

 

“I know. I just love making you happy.” He's so sincere as he declares it. Honest, as he breathes the confession into Porthos' mouth.

 

“Can you move your elbow, then? You're going to crack my ribs.”

 

Aramis draws back, outraged but nevertheless does as he's asked. In doing so, he lies down between Porthos' legs, one outstretched on the couch and the other resting on the floor. From this position, he can look up at the ceiling and thus decides that wherever they'll live next, they'll have to buy a better ceiling light than the lonely lightbulb Porthos currently has. Porthos agrees.

 

The list of what they want keep on growing longer throughout the night, bolder as the wine disappears. Porthos would gladly fall asleep in the living room, one hand on Aramis' stomach, driving him down onto to couch, onto him. He'll often wonder how this man managed to turn him into such a softie full of warmth and cheesiness whereas Porthos used to always be defensive when it came to potential romantic partners. Not that he minds. He loves it. Perhaps it was always there, because it's not different from the way he behaves with his friends. Aramis triggered the same reaction. In a different manner. With his enthusiasm, his joy for life, his energy, his troubles and the growing and hopefully never-ending time and space he dedicates to Porthos.

 

In spite of their struggles, of their problems, Porthos has it in mind to cherish and make Aramis the merriest man on Earth. After all, they don't have too many difficulties in their life together. Porthos simply isn't used to so completely sharing his life with someone and sometimes fixates on details.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, Porthos jogs out around 9. He left Aramis with his batter preparation, singing out of tune and looking dashing with his bed hair, curls everywhere, the mark of the bed sheets on his face, flushed and glad to have Porthos to himself for the entire day. He was also swinging on rhythm with the music, barefoot, wearing only his underwear and one of Porthos' tee-shirts.

 

It was a shame to go outside and abandon him because the show was tremendous. Porthos did promise pastries, though and he's planning to indulge on them, too, so the trip was necessary. Besides, he doesn't feel that bad about his scheme and his pretext to leave the appartment early in the day because he'll actually buy the treats.

 

But first, he fidgets by the subway station exit close to his street, keeps on checking his phone and is relieved that he won't have to keep _this_ secret for much longer as he spots Anne and Mati at the bottom of the stairs.

 

“Porfos!” Mati exclaims, waves his arms, flashes his cast and grins up at the man once he's by their side.

 

“Hey, you! How's it going?” He kisses Anne hello, bends down to give Mati a kiss as well. They haven't seen each other in person since December and a computer screen didn't convey how he'd grown in four months.

 

“It's nice to be here,” Anne says after she's been asked how their travel and their night were.

 

“Yes! I was worried with him and his accident...” Anne is holding on to Mati's valid hand, keeping him close in a city he knows nothing about even though there isn't much of a rush yet.

 

“The doctors said he could fly without problem. He's more than fine. Excited, too, aren't you? To surprise Papá?”

 

Mati nods eagerly, giggles and makes to clap his hands. Except that he can't because he isn't at liberty to use any of his arms.

 

“So am I, to be frank,” Anne adds. She looks tired, from their travel the previous day, but also from their short night. Mati was thrilled to take a plane and to be about to see his father. On such eves he rarely sleeps, an occurrence that she hopes will cease soon if everything goes smoothly.

 

“We all are,” Porthos agrees.

 

He grabs her heavy bag for her while they climb the stairs to find a bakery. His heart is beating a bit faster but not because he's nervous to be with them. Strangely, this isn't puzzling. They've been planning this weekend for months, to the last detail, and he's comfortable with the schedule. Mati and Anne are practically family, people he enjoys talking to. In the short walk to the shop, it hits him without warning that he's missed Mati. His giggles and how he struggles with his French, how he ooohs and aaahs and cranes his head to look at anything and everything. How he seems rather awake for a little boy in the morning.

 

“Does he suspect anything?” Anne inquires after they've purchased their pastries. She's relieved once Porthos shakes his head.

 

“I don't think so.”

 

“Good. Because Mati almost blew it on Wednesday when we called.”

 

Mati cringes adoribly at the scolding, and Porthos glowers dramatically, softens it with a wink.

 

“He almost saw your text last night as well. I'm just glad I won't have to lie to him anymore.”

 

They neve were big lies since they mostly communicated by text messages but he's had to invent an excuse for his time off today and for why he'd rather stay in and cuddle the previous night. Granted, because he loves it, but also to be rested so that Aramis would be able to enjoy the unexpected time with his son at its fullest. Porthos cannot wait to see Aramis' face. His heart is ready to burst the closer they get to the appartment. He has a hard time realizing that they've actually done it, that he hasn't ruined it.

 

“That's where your dad and I live,” Porthos explains to Mati when they enter the building. He balances Anne's bag and the open door, and then swings it on his shoulder once they are in the elevator. Mati repeats how excited he is, hops a bit now that his mother has let go of his hand. She's smiling at Porthos, too, elated for her son, for Aramis. Thankful that Porthos suggested this when they talked back in December.

 

“Okay, you need to be extra quiet now, Mati. We want to surprise your dad _a lot_. Understood?”

 

“Yes. Sssshhh.” Mati puts his finger on his lips and Porthos has to bite his cheek to refrain from chuckling. The little boy looks so serious. Instead, he congratulates him.

 

Mati pads in the corridor, then lets his mother gather the small backpack he's been carrying all along so that Porthos can pick him up. He weighs nothing, grips a shoulder with his good hand. The cast hits Porthos' arm, but the sting is forgotten in the intense moment.

 

“Ready?”

 

“Yes,” Mati whispers loudly. Anne grins, her phone ready to capture every second of what is to follow.

 

“Hey, Aramis!” Porthos sort of shouts as he barges in.

 

“Yes?”

 

“You wouldn't happen to have a heart condition, would you?”

 

“Not that I'm aware of. Why?” Aramis shouts back above the music. He's still stacking pancakes on a plate, burning his fingers every once in a while.

 

“I've brought you a belated birthday surprise!”

 

Aramis has to abandon the stove to go investigate, curious as ever, prepared to reprimand his boyfriend for spoiling him. He scampers to the living room, squids to an abrupt halt and is positive his heart does skip a beat once he finds Mati there, feet away, in his boyfriend's arms. They're both smiling so widely that it's the only thing he can see. Mati is squealing, giggling, wiggling to jump and hug his father.

 

Aramis is rooted to his spot, wondering if he's dreaming. He loses control over his actions as the spatula drops to the floor. He blinks once, twice, but the vision is still here. His brain isn't able to process it. It's impossible. And yet the shrill that Mati gives couldn't be more real.

 

“Papá!”

 

It's Porthos who comes to him, then. Three strides and Mati is reaching for his father. Real flesh in his arms, against his chest, clutching his neck. Real flesh as Aramis snaps out of it enough to kiss his son, his cheeks, his neck, everywhere. His hands are shaking, his legs, too. Aramis is grateful for the solid hand Porthos puts on his back. He's grinning, telling Aramis in the sudden din in his ears that it's a nice surprise, isn't it. And I hope you won't resent me for it.

 

 _How could I?_ That's what Aramis would like to say but the words are struck somewhere. His mouth is incapable of uttering them. He's too busy making sure that Mati is here, his legs around his waist, the weight of the cast on his shoulder. Aramis' fingers burrow in the blond hair.

 

Mati is bigger. He's _here_.

 

“How...how...when...”

 

“It's a surprise, Papá!” Mati squeaks, hugs his father more strongly. So does Aramis.

 

Porthos expected it to be emotional, remembering full well their reunion at Christmas. He expected Aramis to be stunned but this is better than what he imagined. There are tears in Aramis' misty eyes. They search for his boyfriend, full of love and gratitude and questions. They'll have time for that later.

 

Porthos feels his own eyes cloud because the scene is near perfection. A picture of delight and dedication and he's helped it come to life.

 

Anne feels like crying, too and she even sniffs a little. The video will be wobbly but it doesn't matter. She has it all engraved in her memory. Aramis finally notices her at the sound, since he had failed to do so before. He beckons her close with her red eyes, runny nose and broken laughter.

 

Porthos gets caught in the general embrace, surprised that Anne would reach for his arm as a support. She doesn't let him get away so they can savor their special time. As far as she's concerned, Porthos belongs among them. He's growing to become Aramis' family as well.

 

Aramis relishes in the hug and their softness, their kindness. They're all amazing and his love for them is too spectacular to be expressed properly. His tears slide down onto Porthos' neck where he's rested his head while Mati's is buried against his father's shoulder. Anne's cheek is cushioned on Aramis' arm.

 

“I love you. Oh, God. I love you,” he sobs to no one in particular. To all of them. Porthos kisses his hair, Anne grabs his hands, set firmly on their son. Only the thought that they might make his injured arm uncomfortable (once he remembers it) makes Aramis move until their embrace is less fierce and they put a little space between themselves.

 

Mati is all smiles, hasn't stopped since he's come inside. He doesn't look hurt and nuzzles Aramis' neck with his nose. And God, did he miss it. Did he miss him. Aramis is still speechless, staring at his son, running his fingers in the fluffly fair hair, kissing his cheek repeatedly. His heart drums, his eyes narrowing on the perfect boy and even if there was an actual conversation happening, he wouldn't hear it. His ears fill with Mati's voice, his fast sentences when he starts explaining everything. Aramis hardly catches any of it. He's too mesmerized for his brain to function.

 

Eventually, he draws a ragged breath to steady himself and to stop crying from the shock. But also from joy. He reaches up for Porthos once he's done so, reaches for inviting and loving lips which crash against his. His chest would burst with the knowledge that this stupendous man who confronted him about dedicating too much time to his son nonetheless considers him enough to set up this amazing surprise. The two facts aren't connected, Porthos will argue later at the first opportunity to discuss it. He'd never blame Aramis for his fatherly love and it's something that he'll always encourage, given how he grew up. As long as he isn't forgotten altogether because of it.

 

Porthos gives in to the kiss, leans down, one hand on Aramis and the other on Mati to prevent him from falling. Aramis' hold on him looks strong but his arms are still shaking.

 

“What's that smell?” Anne asks, breaking the temporary bubble of bliss they were in. Aramis starts at the question before reluctantly putting Mati to the ground and hurrying to the kitchen. Small feet follow.

 

“My pancake!” He cries out, looking at the damage in his pan. This one is wasted, the bottom side charned beyond repair. Aramis dumps it in the trash and then turns off the stove for the time being. He rubs his eyes, gazes at the others in the room with him. It's a crammed space.

 

“I can't believe it. You did this for me.”

 

His eyes are resolutely set on his boyfriend, pouring adoration. Porthos would look smug and satisfied if he didn't enjoy witnessing Aramis basking in contentment. He's glowing.

 

“For your birfday!” Mati pads to his father to hug his legs until Aramis kneels to be at his level.

 

“I get what you meant about writing on your cast, now. You're a champion. You all are,” he adds for the adults. Anne has been taking a lot of pictures, hardly putting her phone down.

 

Aramis ruffles Mati's hair one last time before the child directs his attention to his drawings on the fridge. His father gives a hoarse laugh at his pride, dabs his eyes and stands up.

 

“I suppose we'll set the table for four, then.”

 

“Absolutely. Why do you think I asked for pancakes?” Porthos receives another powerful hug for his trouble.

 

After that, they all busy themselves carrying food and drinks and plates to the table. Even as he falls back into natural gestures he didn't think he would have to perform today, Aramis has a hard time wrapping his head around this magical change. Cutting food, serving milk with chocolate, helping Mati who only has one functioning hand and yet handles the cast like a pro.

 

Aramis seems on a high as his legs bounce under the table. His mind swirls with possibilities while he marvels at Mati gulfing down pancakes and pastries, smearing his face with Nutella, coating it with sugar. Especially after his mother mentions that he's already had something from the hotel buffet before they checked out.

 

“When did you arrive?” Aramis hasn't eaten much. He finds that he has no appetite for actual food because he's just feasted on his family gathered for him and that's more than enough.

 

“Last night.”

 

“Where did you stay?”

 

“A hotel not far from here.”

 

“Where are you staying tonight? Because you _are_ staying in Paris tonight, am I correct?” Suddenly, he dreads losing them all too soon. Anne chuckles fondly, pats his arm. She finds all the inquiries funny and can't imagine how ecstatic Aramis must be. She would have probably fainted if the roles had been reversed.

 

“Yes, we are,” she reassures him. “We're flying back on Wednesday.” Aramis' face brightens at the news.

 

“They're staying in your old appartment since it's vacant,” Porthos supplies. Contrary to his boyfriend, he finds that the last half hour has made him famished. He settles for eating for the both of them. Aramis beams at him, finds his foot by his side and rubs it as a thank you.

 

“Brilliant. Gosh, I love you,” Aramis proclaims again and finally accepts the piece of orange Mati hands him with sticky fingers which will demand to be washed. The little boy does so by putting them in his mouth. His parents are too over the moon to even conceive scolding him for it.

 

It's not long before Mati has climbed on his father's lap, resolute to remain as close as possible. He's missed his dad's arms, and his strength and warmth, and his deep voice.

 

“You've planned it so well,” Aramis concedes. “I never suspected anything.”

 

Porthos sticks his chest out at the compliment, which leads to Anne giggling.

 

“And I suppose you have more planned.”

 

“Well, there's your fencing practice in the afternoon...”

 

“That I could miss.”

 

“That we won't,” Porthos retorts. “I have a feeling that if Constance learns that Mati was in town and she didn't get to meet him, she'll maim us both.”

 

“Right,” Aramis replies, fearing for his life a little.

 

“I want fencing! With a sword!” Mati chimes in.

 

“You're too small yet. I didn't start until I was six so that leaves you time. But I'll tell you what. We won't tell anyone and I'll let you hold my foil. It's like a sword, only better.”

 

Aramis cannot remember if his son has ever seen him train or compete and that's another thing he'll never thank Porthos and Anne enough for.

 

“And tomorrow, we're going to Vincennes,” Porthos continues.

 

“To see animals!” Mati adds.

 

“Sweet.”

 

* * *

 

Aramis never wanted breakfast to end. By the time his company is sated, his heartbeat has come down and he can behave more normally. Anne has been led to the bathroom to change Mati's shirt since he'd found it a good substitute to a napkin.

 

“Feeling good?” Porthos asks, grabbing Aramis' hands and clutching them to his chest.

 

“You're incredible. For real, Porthos. I don't know what I did to deserve you.”

 

“Keep being you, that's what I love the most.” He kisses the other's hands, kisses Aramis deeply. He parts his lips for Aramis' tongue, sucks on it, allows himself to welcome the reward for such a fantastic twist in their weekend.

 

“Do let me know if I ignore you,” Aramis decides, their lips brushing. He's worried he'll mess up. His fingers touch Porthos' beard lightly.

 

“You're doing wonderful, Aramis. Don't trouble yourself with this. I'm not holding _that_ grudge anymore. Enjoy having them and kiss me whenever you have the chance.”

 

His request is obeyed at once. Aramis pulls his boyfriend towards him, two hands in Porthos' hair as they kiss greedily. Teeth graze Aramis' swollen, gorgeous lips.

 

“Mati would like to see the Eiffel Tower from up close,” Anne interrupts them with a large grin. While he doesn't blush, Aramis knows in that instant that she'll click with Constance right away.

 

The boy saw the monument from the bedroom window and Aramis is about to decline the request. He's aware of how much Porthos despises crowded, touristic spots especially on Saturdays. And no matter his will to satisfy his son, he's also determined to not indispose Porthos either. His boyfriend's answer is yet another surprise, one that Aramis wouldn't expect. He's groaning inside, though. But the weekend is for Aramis.

 

“You better get dressed, then.” Aramis is still in his sleeping apparel so he hurries to the bedroom before the other changes his mind. From there, he catches bits of the conversation as Porthos apologizes to Anne for the mess. An explanation about them looking for a bigger appartment follows. There are questions about work, too.

 

“I'll thank you properly for that once we are alone tonight,” Armis whispers to Porthos on their way out, his fencing equipment in tow. There's no point in traveling the length and breadth of the city several times.

 

It's Mati's first time in Paris, or in a foreign country for that matter. He's awed by everything, all the French which is used and displayed all around him. It's no longer only a language that his family uses. He's gripping his mother's hand tight while Aramis hangs on to Porthos' arm, over the moon, tinkling eyes seeing almost nothing but the amazed gaze of his son.

 

On the other hand, Mati is used to people and tourists, lots of cars and bikes. He lives in a capital city as well after all. It's crowded around the Tower, coaches and people talking (screaming) in so many different tongues. With Aramis by his side, Porthos can handle it all. He dodges people selling crappy souvenirs and pities the soldiers and security guards who have to suffer through it every day.

 

“It's gis-gantic!” Mati marvels, looking up and almost losing his balance when they are underneath the structure.

 

It's a nice day for late April. They've been blessed with excellent weather for the past week. The sun is shining in the late morning and they are all sporting sunglasses. Mati complains that his cast annoys him when Anne helps him out of his jacket. A few minutes by the monument are enough for him, though, as he quickly loses interest. He follows happily for a walk along the Seine to look at the boats, the restaurants, the bridges, the teenagers playing ball and _that_ sparks a new craving in Mati.

 

Aramis' fencing practice isn't until 3 so they have a little time before that they don't really want to spend sightseeing. The adults know Paris like the back of their hand and Mati is too young to appreciate most of it.

 

By the time they settle in a park with their sandwiches, Aramis is starving. Still overwhelmed yet there are basic needs to fulfill. Porthos fits with them effortlessly, helps Mati with his drink and catches the bit of tomato ready to fall in the grass. It's an odd family that Aramis is acquiring, expanding: it satisfies him immensely. He's blessed, reclining in the soft grass, basking in the sun, his head resting against Porthos' arm, dropping kisses to the naked flesh there whenever he can. If only this moment could happen more often....

 

Instead of dwelling of things which might never happen, Aramis resolves to enjoy the rare and first opportunity that they have to be together, the four of them. Nobody else. To see if it can work. Because it has to. And it does.

 

“I hope I'm not going to wake up and realize it was only a dream,” Aramis wishes out loud. He hears Anne give a small laugh. Then she punches his shoulder. He scowls as he turns her head toward her and punches hers straight back.

 

“Ouch!” She retaliates, grabs a handful of fluffy hair and tugs on it.

 

“Oi! That hurt!” Anne is smirking, sticks her tongue out and she's so _her_ that Aramis reaches to hug her. “Not a dream, then.”

 

“Definitely real. Oh, here you go. Be careful with your arm, sweetie.”

 

The football has rolled all the way to their spot and she hands it back to a flushed Mati. He nods and hurries off to Porthos to play again, kicking the ball in front of him. Playing with a cast proves tricky but Porthos has been there to prevent him from losing his balance. Mati often runs with both arms outstretched, making it seem like he's flying.

 

Aramis would rather witness it all from the side rather than take part in the game. It's Mati who asked Porthos to be his partner and both parents were content to let them bond. Anything that includes football is good for Porthos anyway.

 

“He likes him,” Anne remarks.

 

“It's mutual.”

 

Some children simply connect with others. That's what happened with Porthos. Even after a few days for Christmas it was plain that his nervosity had no basis. The child had accepted him without questions. He had cried for hours after their departure. Because his father was gone of course, but also because Porthos was, too. Months apart with only contacts via the Internet haven't tarnished any of it. It's easy as breathing.

 

“What are you doing next week?” Aramis asks. “Because I have to go to work and so does Porthos...”

 

“Oh, I know! I actually changed our tickets a few weeks ago. We were supposed to leave on Monday but...”

 

She hesitates to continue, grabs bits of grass. She looks up at Aramis from behind the curtain of her long hair, with her blue eyes, so fond and so loving and the corners of her mouth pull up while she ponders how to say it.

 

“I've made a decision.”

 

“About?”

 

“I saw how miserable you were after Mati broke his arm. He was, too, by the way. He wanted to have you around. It was unfair and if I'm being honest, I do believe I've been missing you as much as he does.”

 

Aramis isn't surprised: he's missed her, too. Her company, her fierceness and how authoritarian she can be when it comes to their son. Her jokes and endless historical anecdotes. Her inability to cook without supervision and it's amazing that Mati doesn't suffer from any vitamin deficiencies because of it. She makes it work somehow. They both do. Aramis has been coping better with Porthos.

 

“You coming here seemed a good idea, for my sake and it's been, I guess. I mean, look at you now, you're so happy.” She swings her arm in his direction then at Porthos who is making a show of trying to steal the ball from Mati. The boy is giggling so much that if he'd really wanted, Aramis' boyfriend would have achieved his goal ages ago. Porthos looks up just in time to catch their gaze and waves back, grins, puffs out, out of breath.

 

“Your life is here now,” Anne continues. It's obvious, even though Aramis sometimes feels torn in half, which explains the tension the previous month. “My museum has a partnership with other institutions in Europe. Including one in Paris. I have a job interview with the curator on Tuesday.”

 

Aramis can only gape at her revelation. He blinks, until he makes her uncomfortable and she shoves his leg.

 

“Are you serious?”

 

“Would you joke about such a thing?”

 

“Both of you? In Paris? Forever?”

 

“Well, for longer than a mere holiday, that is.”

 

“That would be...fantastic!”

 

She's crushed in his embrace, the bottle of water by her side spilling in the grass. Aramis cannot hope for much more to make his life perfect. Her words ring in his ears, all that they promise, all the possibilities. Everything that the future could hold. His people in the same country, in the same city. His guts churn with what it may mean. His heart stutters, looking at a brighter way of life.

 

“Nothing's for certain yet.” Anne sounds careful from the depths of his arms but she has to share his optimism. It would be a tremendous change, one that her parents would hate yet the right thing to do. They drove Aramis away, incidentally bettered his life and Anne likes Paris. Always has, always will. She'd love to live here again. Besides, she adores the forementioned museum and would be thrilled to contribute as best as she can.

 

“Are you kidding me? You're the best. Which museum?”

 

“Cluny.” Aramis whistles, smiles more.

 

“Piece of cake for you,then. They'll beg to have you.”

 

Anne agrees and wishes they'll be correct.

 

“Does Mati know?”

 

“No. I can't raise his hope to crush it if it doesn't work out. We're going to see a show on Monday and I told him I have an appointment on Tuesday.”

 

“Good. God, I hope you'll get it.” Aramis lets his eyes close for a second to master his emotions. He's shaking a bit. “Just to be sure, though: you don't have any more bombs to drop on me today, do you?”

 

Anne sniggers, tugs on his beard, reminds him why he shaved it when Mati was a baby and would do the same.

 

* * *

 

Tiredness has taken its hold on Mati when they arrive at the gym later. He's yawning after his workout in the park. He rubs his eyes and becomes cranky as he cannot really use both hands. He's drowsing on his mother's lap on the bleachers, Porthos sitting by her side. It's been a long time since he's attended Aramis' practice and he still enjoys it greatly. Anne knows what she's talking about while explaining every move to Mati. Porthos drinks her words, too. Her voice is quiet and calms the child, along with the help he gets from the cuddly toy fished from his backpack.

 

It's impossible to be as focused as usual. Aramis constantly looks at the bleachers, his helmet hiding how sweaty yet delighted he is whenever Mati finds enough strength to wave, following Porthos and Anne's lead.

 

Then he laughs out loud and stops fighting d'Artagnan altogether. Constance has noticed the new visitors in a space where she knows everyone. D'Artagnan does stop, too, but not after having scored a handful of points, to observe his fiancée ungracefully scrambling up the steps and plopping one bleacher below Aramis' fans. Their training is over far sooner than usual but they both agree that under the circumstances, it's more important to make sure that Constance doesn't smother the young child in her enthusiasm.

 

She loves him in a flash, even if he looks exhausted and isn't as merry as he usually is. Mati grows shier and hides behind his cast, head turned against his mother's chest in spite of Porthos introducing Constance as one his dad's best friends. Mati does say hi when he's asked to and this simple word leads to Constance cooing and deciding that she wants one just as similar as him. She says so to d'Artagnan who merely nods. He must be used to the request. He lets her untangle his dirty hair without contradicting her.

 

Mati is in Aramis' arms as soon as he can, repeating that he's tired. However, he hasn't forgotten about the promise to hold the weapon. It's huge in his tiny hand. Constance professes that one day he will be a perfect fencer. So does d'Artagnan. That pleases Mati who almost stabs his father in his excitement.

 

* * *

 

“Sorry we cut you short,” Anne apologizes on the way back home. Constance would have liked to spend more time with the boy so they scheduled a dinner together on Monday with a hopefully more awake Mati.

 

Aramis shrugs.

 

“I'll go twice next week instead. I have to or I'll gain weight.” He gives a pointed look at Porthos who smirks back. “I'm quitting smoking you see.”

 

“Are you now? Good for you!” Aramis shakes his head, avoids catching Porthos' eyes again. It's as if they've sided against him on that one and he's bound to lose the fight. “You have a good influence on him, Porthos!”

 

He would have bowed to thank her, but the bulk of the sleeping boy in his arms prevents him from doing so. They're taking the subway during rush hour and there were no seats left. Aramis has his equipment to carry so the task fell upon Porthos. It's a sight to behold, one giant of a man with a little peaceful body close to him. Mati's hot breath in his neck, small fingers grasping his shoulder. He hadn't expected such opportunities during the weekend. He had presumed Mati wouldn't let anyone but his father care for him.

 

Portho's heart swells to be included, trusted, to become perhaps another parent for the child and _this_ thought makes him giddy. He was about Mati's age when he lost his mother, had no father, so if Aramis' son can benefit from more love and affection, Porthos is thrilled to be able to provide it. He's still scared to lose it all, maybe more now that in a few hours and after many video calls, they consider him like a rightful member of their little cluster. It makes the months spent apart vanish.

 

Anne asks many questions once they are at home. Questions about his childhood, his studies, where they want to live, if he has any projects for the future. Either professional or personal. Most of them are loaded and Porthos understands why she's asking them. She isn't noisy, merely curious and interested, listening undisturbed. Aramis has asked if it was okay for him to go join Mati for his nap. She doubts he's sleeping, though. More like watching the boy rest.

 

Porthos and her are alone in the living room. Every single one of her questions receives an answer. It's true that she doesn't know much about him. They mostly listen to Mati ramble when they skype. She sympathizes with his lifestory, clutches his fingers without thinking twice about it. They are warm from her mug of tea. Anne doesn't look at him any different knowing that he's an orphan, exactly like Aramis reacted and Porthos grows to like her more. He can see himself considering her family and not a random acquaintance, oddly connected to his boyfriend.

 

The nap lasts longer than they imagined and they have to eventually wake up the little boy for dinner. They eat pizza sprawled on the carpet in the living room, which erases his discomfort at having to leave the bed. They watch a Disney movie afterwards, drink hot chocolate and eat the caramel popcorn that Aramis made. His son's squeaks at the popping are everything and he would live on this food alone if it meant hearing it all the days of his life.

 

Porthos' arm is around his shoulders, Mati is sitting between his stretched legs, resting his back against his father's chest. And Anne is cuddling by his side on the floor. There are sticky fingers grazing the skin of Aramis' arm as Porthos casually caresses the skin there but he doesn't mind. Mati comments on everything, sings the few lyrics he knows, gets help from the adults for the rest.

 

It's so domestic, so cosy, so _normal_ , that Porthos feels surprised at his disappointment when they lived happily ever after and the credits roll.

 

* * *

 

“This was one of the best days, Porthos,” Aramis declares solemnly , raising his head to look at the slack face of his boyfriend, relaxing in bed.

 

They've accompanied Anne and Mati to his former appartment. Porthos visited the previous day to air it, open the shutters and put some clean linens on the bed. It led to his boyfriend professing his undying love and gratitude in such a dramatic fashion that Porthos had to shut him up with a ferocious kiss. Taking the same trip back to their own place was exhausting and they both groan as they get comfortable for the night.

 

“I mean, we didn't do anything extraordinary and yet everything was. Thank you.” He leans over, strokes Porthos' cheek, his beard, the scar over his eye. Silky fingers gliding on the rough skin.

 

“I was promised kisses,” Porthos replies casually, pointing at his mouth, wiggling his tongue playfully. He stifles a moan as Aramis climbs on top of him, frames his face with his hands and swallows any other sound. Tongue and lips are hungry, sucking. Teeth are nipping. Porthos has both of his hands strong on Aramis' hips.

 

“You, Sir, are incredible,” Aramis gasps, petting Porthos' hair, rejoicing in the smile tugging at the other's lips that he kisses them softly over and over. Nothing will convey what he's been feeling ever since Porthos managed to bring his son to Paris.

 

“You know, I could get used to all this praising.”

 

“Good. Because I don't plan on stopping anytime soon. You deserve it. You've made me _so_ happy.”

 

Porthos can see it, has seen throughout the day and truth be told, he's pretty proud of it. He snuggles Aramis closer, spreads his legs, allows him to make himself comfortable. Porthos closes his eyes and lets the endless list of adjectives his boyfriend finds to describe his character fill his ears, his mind, his heart.

 

* * *

 

Mati has been bouncing all over the place from the moment they've finished eating breakfast. They're looking at the online map of the zoo to decide which animals he absolutely wants to see. The park is huge and they might not have time to see it in its entirety. The adults have never been either, because have you seen the entrance fee? so Aramis is pleased with the choice of outing.

 

“The giraffes! The lions! The monkeys! The cro...croco...crocro...”

 

“The crocodiles?” Porthos helps him out.

 

“Yes, them!”

 

“All right.” Porthos marks it on his printed map while Anne is busy preparing snacks for the day. Much to their dismay, Aramis has excused himself to go smoking. The previous day has shaken him deeply, he's argued, and a cigarette is what he needs to power through the emotions that this new day promises.

 

“Oh! _Lobos_!”

 

“What?” Porthos isn't fluent in Spanish animal names so he waits for Mati to show him the drawing. “Ah, wolves you mean. Good choice.” Mati nods seriously. “What about snakes?”

 

“Yuck!” He sticks his tongue out, gags a little and shakes his head.

 

“Gotcha. Birds?”

 

“I have a bird at home!” It's not an answer but he rambles about his pet nonetheless. Porthos learns that it was a birthday gift from his maternal grandparents to Anne, that it's very loud unless you cover the birdcage and that its name is “Shut up.” So he gathers that the present wasn't exactly appreciated by the gifted. Mati seems to like it.

 

“I think that's more than enough, Mati,” Anne decides. “Or we'll be there until nighfall.”

 

“But, Mamá! Animals!” He exaggerates, pointing out the obvious.

 

“Believe me, I know.” She drops a kiss on top of his head before helping him hop down the chair to put his jacket on.

 

There's tobacco in their kiss once Aramis joins them and if he admits it, Porthos does like that taste. He's always associated it with his boyfriend, from the very first day. He'll never confess it out loud, though. He's lost his mom to cancer and isn't ready to lose Aramis to it, too.

 

* * *

 

Once in the zoo, Mati doesn't quite know where to set his eyes on. He has three guides at his disposal yet only one hand available and there's a crowd already in spite of them coming in the morning. Many kids are running and screaming and they make Mati seem rather well-behaved as he sticks close to the adults. He points, and tugs at whoever is the closest to get them moving. They go with it, enjoy watching him having fun more than they do gazing at the animals.

 

Whenever he isn't demanded at his son's side, Aramis clings to Porthos, holding hands or gripping his arm, overjoyed in the simplicity of the situation. He would have never dreamed that one day he would be able to take part in such ordinary things. Having his son, his friend but also someone he loves with such passion. Someone real, sweet, strong, true, honest and downright adorable. Even if massive. And protective.

 

It's gotten them in trouble and yet Aramis likes Porthos' jealousy, what it entitles: that he loves him deeply, wouldn't want to relinquish him for the world and doesn't want others to steal what is only theirs. Aramis has never been the recipient of this particular emotion and now that he can somewhat say that he understands how his boyfriend works and reacts, he's satisfied of the hold he has on him. He'd never dream of using it against Porthos as it would make them both suffer. It's nice anyway to be aware of much he means to the other.

 

They don't need jealousy for that. It's plain in their interactions, going from flirtatious to cheesy sometimes in the same sentence. The small gestures they save for when they are alone, the short unexpected pecks Aramis likes giving to Porthos' cheeks, no matter where they are, simply to catch the wondering gaze and the sparkle in it.

 

“Did Anne tell you?” Aramis inquires quietly while Mati is watching the giraffes, as close to the fence as he can, in Anne's arms since it makes him taller. Their hair mingle and from behind, they display the exact same shade.

 

The men are sitting on a bench, shielding their eyes from the sun. Aramis has to let Porthos in because he's aware that he cannot agree to the potential change without his opinion. He's involved now.

 

“About?”

 

“Why they're flying back on Wednesday instead of tomorrow.”

 

Porthos shakes his head.

 

“I assumed she wanted to show him the sights. Fit in a little holiday of their own as well. Isn't his birthday in a couple of weeks anyway? And indulge on your cooking for two more days.”

 

Aramis chuckles, pets his beard as he always does when he's looking for words or when he wants Porthos to acknowledge how well-shaved he is today. Which happens more often than one might think. Right now, Porthos believes it's the former.

 

“There may be some of that but no. She...she has a job interview on Tuesday. At the Musée de Cluny.”

 

“Oh. I see.” He doesn't seem offended by it and nods to ask him to continue.

 

“They'll both move to Paris if she gets the position.”

 

“Aren't you supposed to sound more enthusiastic then?” Aramis wants to. He needs to make sure first.

 

“Would it be okay with you?”

 

“Would what be okay? That she finds another job?”

 

“To have Mati here in the city?”

 

“Why would it be a problem? Mati is a great lad and I don't presume spending more time with him on a regular basis would change this.” He sounds so sincere as he states it that it reassures Aramis a bit. Not entirely, though.

 

“Yes, but...it would change many things. I can't say how we'd arrange it but I'm positive he'd spend days, nights at end with me. And I want this. I've been dreaming of it for years.” Aramis exhales a long breath. His hands starts trembling as he voices what he's had to keep bottled for too long.

 

“Are you asking if it'd bother me to have Mati stay with _us_?” Porthos doesn't wait for a reply, realizes what has been worrying Aramis. He grabs the other's fingers and traps them in his fist to stop the shaking. Aramis looks up at him at the gesture. Porthos couldn't sound more serious or determined.

 

“What happened last month was a honest mistake. I'm sure of it, now. You didn't even realize you were doing it. Ignoring me and treating me like a mere friend, that is. I was hurt and we talked about it and now we're good. Better,” he specifies, puts his other hand on Aramis' shoulder. There's a din around them, and yet Aramis only hears his steady voice.

 

“I told you yesterday to quit worrying about it.”

 

“I don't...”

 

“Listen to me. What prompted it was that you're far away. Your situation sucks. No matter how much you sugarcoat it or embellish it, it does. No one who loves their child that much can survive long like this. I'm amazed you've made it this far.”

 

It's not Ninon who should be the psychology professor. Porthos is a pretty good judge of character as well. It's a shame nobody appreciated him before. On second thoughts, it's all the better for Aramis who sighs and leans against the hand cupping the nape of his neck.

 

“I've been busy,” he explains. “You help.”

 

“And I take immense pride in it, believe me. The point is, it wouldn't have happened, you acting as if I wasn't important, if Mati had been closer and you had been able to go to him.”

 

“You may be right.”

 

“I am. I guess what I'm trying to say is that although it scares me a lot and I'm not certain I'd do a good job at looking after Mati like a responsible and actual guardian, or whatever I'd be, it'll be good for you to have him in Paris. And no, I won't ditch you because of it. Because you're more than Mati's father to me. I didn't fall in love with Mati's father. I fell in love with Aramis and Aramis is funny, goofy, excellent company, kind and caring and overall puts others before himself. That's who I love.”

 

Aramis flushes at the profession of love.

 

“Come here, silly,” Porthos concludes, grabbing him firmly until Aramis' head rests in the crook of his neck. “Not to mention that you're an excellent cook and a tease but _that_ I know how to deal with.”

 

Porthos hears the hollow and shuddering breath that Aramis drew and which quickly dissolves into laughter.

 

“I love you,” Aramis hiccups.

 

“I know. I love you, too.”

 

“You'll be fantastic, by the way. If it should happen. Taking care of Mati, I mean. He's crazy about you already. I couldn't wish for a better stepfather for him.”

 

“I'll try.” Porthos is kind of petrified but he will follow Aramis' example, will support and help him in opportunities he had long given up on.

 

They share one long kiss, sweet in its essence. Chaste given the setting and the families milling about. The moment is broken when Mati runs back to them.

 

“Mamá says it's time for lunch!” He flashes white teeth at the men, oblivious to what he's interrupted, oblivious to how Aramis avoids talking for fear that his voice will shake. He's all cheerful tones, though, to match the smile on his son's face.

 

“And whatever Mamá says....”

 

“We do!”

 

It's obviously a well-rehearsed dialogue. Anne tuts while Porthos tries to not laugh because it's easy for them three to resume easy interactions after not being together for an eternity. It's plain how joyful it makes them.

 

Their meal is delayed because there are many more animals to see on they way to the nearest food court. The list is all but forgotten as Mati insists on stopping to watch all the species.

 

They make an odd group at their picnic table but they don't care about people looking at them, three adults with a child and the relationship between Porthos and Aramis impossible to mistake in spite of the absence of any display of affection for the moment. What matters is that Mati is happy with his chips and his juice as he monopolizes the conversation.

 

Only once does Porthos throw a dark look at an inconsiderate woman who dares walk by and criticize their situation, that she knows nothing about to begin with. She has no right and Porthos would have probably given her a bigger piece of his mind at her assuming that “this poor boy doesn't have a healthy lifestyle.” Because she clearly isn't referring to his food. There's no need to ruin the day with an argument, though. His stare is enough to make her recoil and for her husband to steer her out of their sight. Instead, Porthos focuses on the box that Mati has and in which Anne put some fruit for dessert.

 

“Who's that?” he asks the boy.

 

“The Flash!” Mati looks outraged that Porthos woudn't know. He does. Who wouldn't? “He's a s _ou_ perhero.”

 

“Superhero, Mati,” Aramis corrects.

 

“Superhero.” He slowly says the French word correctly and is rewarded by a thumbs-up from his father.

 

“Cool,” Porthos decides. “Is he your favourite?”

 

“Yes! He's fast! Woooosh!” Mati spits bits of chips on the table as he makes the sound. Both his parents reprimand him at the same time. “Elisa gave it to me.”

 

“His teacher,” Aramis explains to his boyfriend. “How come?”

 

“She felt awful after his accident. The school gave him toys, too,” Anne tells him.

 

“Hmmm.” They may be too afraid the parents will sue. Which they won't because it's too much paperwork and stress and Aramis wouldn't be there to support Anne through it. Besides, Mati is fine. Still. “It doesn't change my opinion. We should find another school.”

 

“It could have happened anywhere, Aramis.”

 

“Well, it happened there. Who knows when it could happen again?”

 

“But I like Elisa!” Mati pouts.

 

“We're just talking, honey.” Anne smoothes his hair to reassure him. He nevertheless looks at her suspiciously then at his father who gives him a bright smile despite his desire to continue the conversation. On the other hand it would only upset the boy more and it might soon not be necessary to look for a new school in Madrid. In Paris, perhaps. _That_ makes Aramis forget his worries.

 

* * *

 

“Ice cream!” Mati exclaims the second they've started walking again towards the penguins. There's a window right there on the cobbled path and of course, it couldn't be ignored.

 

“You've just eaten so much. It'll make you sick,” Aramis argues.

 

“But I want ice cream!” He looks at his mother, then, who gives him the same answer as his father. Then he looks at Porthos who definitely doesn't want to be involved in the incoming tantrum.

 

“Can't help you here, buddy.”

 

“I want ice cream!” Mati repeats, louder as he balls his fist and stomps his foot. Aramis' behaviour changes in a second and he kneels to be on the same level as his son.

 

“Don't start with this attitude, Mati. It's not nice.” It's a stern voice which makes small lips quiver.

 

“But, Papá...”

 

“Your tummy's too full for anything else yet.”

 

“But, please! Please! Please! Ice cream!”

 

“Stop screaming. I love you and I'm not buying you ice cream right now.”

 

Mati pouts, crosses his arms awkwardly on his chest, refuses to look his father in the eye.

 

“You can sulk all you want. I won't change my mind. Come on, animals await.” Aramis makes to take the boy's hand but he is shrugged off. Mati gives him a nasty glance.

 

“Matias...careful. You don't want to be grounded when we come back home.” He also says it in Spanish for emphasis, to be certain that he's been understood.

 

“Apologize to Papá, Mati.” Her firm voice is miles away from what Porthos is used to. He'll never be able to cope with whims and shouts as easily as they do it.

 

The child fidgets on his spot, aware that he won't coax any of the adults and the threat isn't appealing. He _hates_ having to stay in a corner for long minutes without toys and forbidden to talk.

 

“Sorry,” he eventually mumbles quietly. It's enough.

 

“Thank you,” Aramis says to end it. His tone of voice changes back in an instant and the fight is forgotten. “Penguins?”

 

Mati nods timidly, finally allows him to grab his hand after drying his eyes. However, he doesn't come back to his excited self until they've reached the specific enclosure. Ice cream is out of his mind, replaced by the animals' antics.

 

“You're impressive with him,” Porthos mentions casually. Aramis merely shrugs.

 

“It's not my favourite thing to do but sometimes I have to.”

 

“I know it's inappropriate but...that voice you had? I liked it a lot.” His arm is around Aramis' shoulders and it's a whisper in his ear, lips brushing Aramis' skin. He snorts but turns his head nonetheless.

 

“You've got a dirty mind.”

 

“And you a dirty mouth. Perfect match.”

 

Perfect fit for their lips as well.

 

* * *

 

“It's such a gorgeous day. We're really lucky.” It's actually rather hot as the sun rises higher in the sky and Aramis now has to hold Mati's jacket. “I wonder what we would have done if it had rained.”

 

“We would have kicked your ass at board games. That's what,” Porthos replies with a smirk.

 

“Oh! Mamá!” Mati has overheard the conversation and looks appalled as he turns around from the bay window to glance at Porthos, wide-eyed.

 

“What? What's wrong?” He's suddenly afraid.

 

“Porfos said a bad word!”

 

For his father, it's a mystery how Mati actually knows and understands this specific word in French, but he'll worry about that later. His boyfriend's face at the moment is everything.

 

“What? Ah, fuck. I mean...No, that's not what...Shit.”

 

Aramis is struggling not to make fun of him. That's one aspect of parenthood Porthos hadn't anticipated. This might be the hardest.

 

Mati is waiting for his mother's reaction and she doesn't disappoint.

 

“That's very, very bad, Porthos. That'll be 1,5 euros in the swear jar.” She's smiling in spite of it. Mati seems satisfied.

 

“What fucking jar? Ah for f...”

 

“Two euros, then,” Aramis adds and he looks so cheeky to see his boyfriend in this situation. Porthos will have to think of something to make them even.

 

“All right, all right, you win,” he surrenders, taking his wallet out and handing her the expected coins. “Traitor,” he also tells Mati afterwards. But the little boy simply gets a hold on his fingers and leads him towards the monkeys. Porthos forgets to be ashamed and rejoices in their building relationship instead.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The City of Paris should thank me for advertising its recreational and cultural spots like I do. Js. 
> 
> Also, I cannot decide what my favourite scene in the chapter is because I find it all so perfect (not because I wrote it but Portamis with kids make me SO happy) so help me choose?


	11. Spring (Part Three)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know they are making an Angry Birds movie? Well, I didn't and it's irrelevant to my story. What is relevant is that I heard the main song of the soundtrack and it was the inspiration for this chapter. So I advise you to listen to it, especially during the "June" part of this chapter. If this was a badly-written fic back in the days on FF.net, I would put a note right in the middle of the story to let you know to go to Youtube and listen to the song NOW1!1!1 But this is AO3 and we are thankfully all civilized people so go listen or don't. But it's a summery and really catchy song and it will put you in a good mood, I swear!!
> 
> Wonderful life (Mi oh My) by Matoma

**April**

 

Aramis finds that Monday drags on, more than it usually does. His son is in town and he can't enjoy his company so he is a little distracted during the day. He drinks so much coffee to focus that when it's 6 p.m and he's finally able to leave the office, he feels hyper. He hasn't smoked more than two cigarettes, though, so that's a plus.

 

On the contrary, Mati loved his day in Paris with his mother as he recounts everything to the adults over dinner. The show with the people dressed as animals, the songs and the magic tricks and the ride in the ferris wheel. Which did scare him a little but then he was rewarded by the so long-awaited scoop of ice cream afterwards so it made it all better. His father drinks his every word while Constance keeps on smiling and stealing French fries from d'Artagnan's plate.

 

The boy loves the choice of restaurant with its burgers that you can eat with your hands and the giant milkshakes that you can drink with a straw and which have candy in them. Mati is also in awe at the huge burger Porthos ordered and so is Aramis, to be honest. But his boyfriend gobbles it down and really, where does it all go?

 

They haven't been eating healthy food since Anne and Mati arrived in Paris but they're on a holiday. If you can't indulge on a holiday, when can you?

 

“Except that you aren't on one. A holiday, that is,” Aramis reminds Porthos after he's agreed to finish Mati's drink. Porthos simply shrugs and passes the straw to Aramis so he won't be jealous. That settles it. Even if Porthos does feel a bit full when they leave the diner.

 

“Good luck for tomorrow,” Aramis tells Anne once they've walked them back to his old appartment and they are sitting down with a final cup of tea before bed. Mati is already in bed, the glow of his night-light visible under the closed door.

 

“Are you taking him with you, by the way?” Aramis suddenly exclaims, remembering this rather important detail that he had overlooked so far. Anne flails her arms a little.

 

“I don't have a choice. He won't be a burden, though. He knows how to play quietly when needs be.”

 

“I wish I could help but you may be correct.”

 

“Perhaps...perhaps _I_ could help?” Porthos chimes in, hesitant yet astonished at his own boldness. He doesn't quite think it through totally. He only cares about what could relieve Anne. Both parents stare at him in surprise. “I mean, it's a job interview. It's _important_. And Aramis is right. They wouldn't appreciate a child on their premises. But I'm the boss at the gym. And I don't have to teach any classes tomorrow. I've only some paperwork to do. I'll look after him. If that's okay with you both, of course.”

 

“I don't want to trouble you,” Anne starts to argue.

 

“You wouldn't.”

 

“It'll only be for a couple of hours in the morning, anyway.”

 

“All set then.”

 

She has to stand up to hug him. Porthos' heart is beating faster at his suggestion having been accepted and the knowledge of what it encompasses slowly creeps in on him. He'll be alone with Mati without his parents. He'll have to actually care for him. Completely. After a few hours he isn't so sure whether he is still glad of the decision or not.

 

But Aramis spends a good portion of their night thanking him, reassuring him, telling him that he'll do a fantastic job because he is a fantastic person. Porthos almost believes it as well. There's nothing like a first-hand experience to see if he's fit for the job.

 

In the morning, Aramis has already gone to the publishing house when Anne rings at their place. She's looking awfully smart in her work clothes and she means business and yes, she is beautiful. Porthos can admit that much. Even so early in the day. On the other hand, Mati looks cranky and tired. He's not fully awake as he plops down on the couch with his teddy bear.

 

“You should be happy to skip school again, honey.” Mati gives a tiny nod at his mother's words then makes to suck on his thumb and she lets him, for the time being.

 

“Do you remember what I told you, Mati? You're going to stay with Porthos for a few hours. You'll go to his work with him and Mamá will pick up there later. Okay?”

 

Porthos hovers behind her, apprehensive at the idea that soon, she'll leave and they'll be by themselves.

 

“And...Porthos is Papá's boyfriend, which means that you have to obey him as you would me or Papá. Whatever he says, goes. No tantrums, no shouts or fights. Because I _will_ know about it. Understood?”

 

Porthos waits as she repeats everything in Spanish even though he could see that the boy had gotten it the first time.

 

“Yes,” Mati agrees.

 

“Good. Be a good boy and Mamá loves you.” She kisses the top of his head before standing up. “Thank you again, Porthos. I'm much more comfortable with this arrangement.” She does sound quite relieved as she smoothes her jacket.

 

“No problem.”

 

“I've packed him some snacks and toys and he has his tablet to watch movies. And please, call me if something's wrong.”

 

“Got it. Don't worry.”

 

The thing is, she can't help but be because he's her baby and he's injured. Porthos isn't a stranger, though and she trusts him, can see how well they interact, but the sooner she leaves, the better.

 

Porthos exhales a shuddering breath after the door closes on her and decides he can't show how nervous he is. Mati is studying him closely.

 

“All right!'” He clasps his hands. “Ready to go work out? Play at the gym?” He rephrases once it's obvious that the first word used was foreign to the child. Mati nods, then climbs down the couch and dutifully walks towards Porthos' outstretched hand.

 

He doesn't relinquish it for the world on their way out. With such fine weather, Porthos would have probably walked to the gym since it's not even 15 minutes away. He doesn't think that Mati would appreciate walking the distance, though. For once, he decides to take the bus. And ends up carrying the teddy bear because Mati isn't at leisure to hold it: his grip on Porthos' right hand is extremely fierce and tight. His eyes dart everywhere, curious and unsettled but not uncomfortable with Porthos. It's the opposite. Mati even claims his arms at one bus stop when too many people come inside. And there's still faith in the world as a woman promptly stands up so that Porthos can sit down with his charge.

 

“Are we going to dance?” Mati asks timidly, feeling more awake now, and interested.

 

“Not today, no. But another day, maybe? When you come back?”

 

“Okay.” He doesn't sound too disappointed either and he spends the rest of the ride listening to Porthos list all the things that he'll be able to do at the gym.

 

It's quieter there in the mornings, even if there is a class starting in a few minutes. There are already some regulars on treadmills or lifting weights and the loud music makes Mati flinch a bit. Otherwise, he takes in the sights, the noises, the bright lights.

 

“Listen up, people!” Porthos exclaims above the music before he reaches behind the front desk and turns the volume down. That gets the attention of his staff and those who aren't wearing headphones.

 

“This is Mati,” he introduces the little boy who has gotten his teddy bear back and clutches it close to his chest. Porthos' hand rests on his shoulder, solid and comforting. Familiar. People are definitely interested in the sudden appearance and those who know Porthos, either as a boss or an instructor, do find the picture he makes with the child puzzling yet cute nonetheless. There's no explanation as to where Mati comes from. They don't need to know about _that_.

 

“He'll be staying here for a few hours. Don't let him wander in the fitness rooms.”

 

It's the only intruction given and as soon as he's done talking, a flock of women crowds around them, including the employee who should be minding the front desk. Children do attract girls. They cooe about how handsome he is, tell him how courageous he is with such an injury and inquire about his age, the name of his teddy bear. Little, safe questions. Like this, Mati's first shyness quickly dissolves and he loves being the center of their attention.

 

Besides, he gets free juice from the bar, that he spills on the floor right away. Porthos should have realized that with his cast, he wouldn't be able to carry it correctly. Thank God Anne thought about a change of clothes. The cast makes this tricky, too, and Mati whines a little at the proceedings but in the end, Porthos is pretty proud of himself to not hurt him further.

 

They finally manage to both settle down in his office, toys scattered on the floor with a new tall glass of juice on the coffee table and less defeaning music. Mati's sound effects as he plays make for a better background sound. Porthos does get a good portion of his paperwork done by the time his phone rings and he answers Anne's call.

 

“Hi. It's Anne.”

 

“Hey. How did it go?”

 

“Wonderful. Thanks. Is everything okay?”

 

“Everything's _perfect_. We're doing good.”

 

His voice has raised Mati's interest who abandons his truck to pad towards Porthos' chair, curious.

 

“Hi, Mamá,” he tells her after Porthos has put the phone to his ear. “Yes. I've juice and Porfos gived me paper....Gave.” He's obviously corrected and repeats the good word. “It's a surprise!” He giggles, having been asked about what he's doing with this paper. “Bye, Mamá.”

 

“Thanks again, Porthos. And I hate to ask this of you but...it seems that I'll be delayed a while longer. It wasn't an actual job interview, you see.” He can hear the smile and delight in her tone and she doesn't need to specify her situation further. Porthos has already understood and smiles back, thinks of how ecstatic Aramis will be when he'll learn about it. Porthos has no time to dwell on what it will change for him now.

 

“Congratulations,” he replies instead. The truth is, he's genuinely pleased for her and she gives a nervous laugh in return.

 

“Don't tell Aramis yet.”

 

“I won't. When will you come by then?” He's also caught what she was trying to tell him: that she wouldn't stick to the plan. He can't blame her. Discovering her new job or her colleagues or whatever she'll be doing at the museum is a priority. Since she's already over there. Mati has been an easy child so far. Porthos finds himself relaxing in their interactions.

 

“In the afternoon?” It's more a question than a statement so this time, Porthos is the one laughing, before he says that it's not a problem. Then he inquires about what to get for lunch and is reminded to fit in a nap in there somewhere.

 

“You are I are going to stay together for a little bit longer, buddy.”

 

Porthos grabs Mati's waist to lift him up on his lap. The weight pressed to his chest is becoming familiar, warm and never completely still. Mati surveys the documents on the desk, the rows of numbers and the computer screen.

 

“I show you my home!” In his excitement, he scrambles to the keyboard only to realize that he doesn't know his complete address and so Porthos can't type it. But he makes up for it by showing him his grandparents' estate with the trees and Mati is midly satisfied.

 

After that, Porthos does have to go walk around to see if everyone is content in the gym. Of course, Mati wants to tag along, because Porthos is tall, perhaps taller than his father and his strides are gigantic and the boy likes trying to keep up with him, teddy bear dangling from his hand, sweeping the floor. So he pouts a little as he's told that it's too dangerous with all the weights and the people working out who whouldn't expect a child to be close to them. He could get hurt more and we certainly don't want that. Mati sulks nevertheless when Porthos entrusts him to one of his employees, relieved to see he can stand up to the kid and not grant him his every whim.

 

It's not long before Mati is glued to the bay window separating the lounge area and the bar from the actual fitness section. His eyes follow Porthos, mesmerized by it all, mesmerized by his movements and gestures as he helps some customers or show them how to use the equipment and truly, Mati likes it when Porthos laughs. The booming laughter can be scary from time to time, and yet, it makes him squee.

 

Anne had clearly explained that under no circumstances he should ask Mati what _he_ would like to eat for lunch. It would result in a endless list of sweets and junk food and even if that's acceptable sometimes, it doesn't make for a complete meal. So Porthos orders for some restaurant to deliver two meals at the gym and they eat it together, crammed over a small table in the lounge. Mati is too little for the armchairs and his tiny legs dangle, kick the air as he tastes his food.

 

“Porfos?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“It tastes bleh,” Mati decides, holding out a piece of cucumber from his plate.

 

“Yeah, I don't like it either. Just put it on the side.” He's glad he's not the only person who thinks that this particular food tastes weird, even if Mati is a child and he's fully aware that he's at an age when most vegetables are not appealing. But really, why do people insist on putting cucumber everywhere?

 

“Porfos?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“That's too big.” This time, Mati fiddles with a piece of the meat Porthos cut for him before handing him his plate. He has to confess that he might have to do a better job next time at cutting smaller pieces. He wouldn't want Mati to choke on his watch.

 

“Thank you,” Mati says after it's been cut in half.

 

“No problem.”

 

“Porfos?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“You're nice.” It's a brutally honest admission. Sort of out of the blue and Porthos has been expecting another complaint about the food. It takes him by surprise, before a smile blooms on his face. Mati is gazing at him, chewing with his mouth half-open, looking incredibly serious.

 

“Why, thank you. You're nice, too.” Mati nods in approval, focuses on finishing his chicken and then finds another criticism to make about his dessert because there are strawberries in the yoghurt. He much prefers the apple his mother has packed for him. Which is what he ends up eating.

 

Lunchtime is followed by naptime and Mati settles down in Porthos' office without being too much trouble. The couch can turn into a bed for whenever Porthos feels like he could do with some rest as well. It's cool and silent in the room and Mati clutches a spare blanket up to his chin, eyes fluttering closed.

 

“I'll be right outside if you need me, okay?”

 

“Porfos?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Story? Please?”

 

With his cuddly and his blanket and his little feet poking out at the end of it, Mati is adorable and actually, Porthos realizes he has never seen him right before he goes to bed. He changes position on the floor, from kneeling to sitting. The only stories he's ever told the boy were from books with Aramis and Anne back for Christmas. Porthos has never had to invent any from scratch, has never had the occasion to and Mati didn't bring any books with him.

 

But Porthos cannot decline the request as Mati yawns, rubs at one eye and looks at him, full of expectation. So he racks his brain to remember Disney stories or any cartoon, and in the end settles for Shrek except that in his tale, Shrek is a huge football fan and takes part in many competitions, wins them all. Mati likes it. Even if Porthos hesitates for his words, goes back on what he said, rushes some parts, doesn't adopt the calm voice which should relax the child enough for him to fall asleep. No one has ever told him that's what he had to do.

 

“Porfos?” Mati eventually interrupts him in the middle of the story. Or he thinks. Porthos has no idea when or where he will end it.

 

“Yes?”

 

“I like you.”

 

His eyes are definitely closed now and that second, sincere confession of the day stuns Porthos. The boy is unaware of the impact it has on the adult. Porthos could almost count the days they've spent together on his fingers. So few and yet for the child to make such an admission...Trembling fingers move on their own to soothe the blond curls. There's even breathing after some time and Mati's nose twitches once in a while in his slumber.

 

The story isn't finished, because there's no point to it now. Besides, Porthos' mind is too shaken by the declaration. His voice would betray him. Mati is terribly lucky, he decides. Blessed with wonderful parents, a great life and even though it's already well-balanced, enough for him to grow up correctly, he deserves the improvement in Anne and Aramis' situation.

 

“I like you, too, Mati,” Porthos whispers in the silence. It's a buzz in his ears to admit it out loud, although nobody hears him. It's out in the world nonetheless. It doesn't matter if he's the only one hearing it for now. He says so in a shaggy breath and can understand why Aramis likes to watch his son sleep. Mati is peaceful, face relaxed, without a care in the world, no problems, nothing to worry about.

 

* * *

 

About two hours later, Anne manages to find the gym and shows up with a large box of chocolates to thank Porthos. It's opened in a second as they sit at the bar with coffee, Mati on her lap as he goes on about how fun Porthos is. She's glowing, the good news written all over her face and Porthos cannot help but congratulate her again.

 

“I guess it's official, then.” Anne nods cheerfully, her cheeks a bit flushed by her brisk walk in the street and how much her life has changed in a few hours. Their life. She reaches for a second chocolate. Porthos reaches out to hug her, careful not to hurt Mati. “That's wonderful news.”

 

“Yes. Yes it is. God, I can't believe it. Thank you, Porthos.”

 

“It was a pleasure. Mati's been very nice.”

 

“Not naughty?” she inquires, looking down at her son who shakes his head wildly.

 

“He's been a very good boy,” Porthos swears. The child receives a kiss from his mother as he giggles, then demands to hop down to go back to his toys.

 

“I didn't only mean about him today,” Anne goes on, suddenly a bit uncertain. Porthos cocks his head. “You've accepted so much, so fast. Aramis and Mati and now us moving here in a few months.”

 

“It's all for the best.” And Porthos truly believes in what he tells her. Her hand closes on his arm, a bit sweaty.

 

“I can see what Aramis means when he says you're amazing. You're more than that.”

 

“Ah, now, you're going to make me blush.” She's embarrassing him and yet, he basks in knowing how his opinion and his well-being matter to her, to Aramis, to all of them. How they make sure that he's comfortable and that he isn't excluded and even if it should happen from time to time, Porthos will learn to work around it.

 

“Have another chocolate then.”

 

* * *

 

They're both cooking when Aramis comes back from work, apprehensive and fidgety. Mati is watching cartoons on his tablet. His father barely has time to put his bag down that his arms are claimed, Dora completely forgotten.

 

“What are you doing?” Arams asks, joining the others in the kitchen.

 

“What do you think? We're cooking,” Porthos replies, gets a kiss hello from above the blond curls invading his boyfriend's face. Aramis looks and sounds suspicious.

 

“The both of you?” He kisses Anne on the cheek, glances at the ustensils and ingredients scattered everywhere, the phone and the recipe displayed on the screen. “And do you have a back-up plan for when you'll have failed? Hey!” He exclaims as Anne swats his bottom with her dishtowel.

 

“That'll teach you,” Porthos adds with a wink, which makes Mati giggles, along with the tiny jump his father has just given.

 

Aramis sits down, obviously outraged at them siding against him, growing to be friends. He watches them, all the while listening to his son going on about his day, what he did at the gym, the story Porthos told him. It makes Aramis' heart swell and drum happily. At the tale and the domesticity of the peculiar situation he finds himself in. Anne and Porthos are unused to working together so they constantly bump into one another, step on each other's feet.

 

“I got it, by the way,” Anne casually mentions once there's a respite in Matis' rambling. “I think I'd gotten it way back in February when I first called. It wasn't even a proper job interview. More like an introduction to the staff.”

 

“What do you mean?” Aramis chokes on his astonishment. Anne smirks at him, looking behind her shoulder and then he's on his feet.

 

“You got the job?” It's a shrill and Mati covers his ears. She nods to confirm and she's in his arms, Mati squashed in the middle. Aramis can hardly believe it. “That's spectacular news! Did you hear that, Mati?”

 

“What?”

 

“I haven't told him yet. I thought you could do the honors.” He loves her, God, he loves her.

 

“Mamá has a new job, Mati. Here in Paris. Which means you're going to live here and we'll see each other all the time!”

 

He can barely contain himself, his cheeks are ready to burst from all the smiling he does and Porthos is delighted for all of them.

 

“And the holidays?” Mati asks.

 

“The holidays, too, of course. But so much more. So often, Mati. Papá is _so_ happy.”

 

Aramis smothers him with kisses to stop himself from crying and the boy surrenders to the loving, even if he doesn't quite grasp how tremendous the change is yet.

 

“You know how we live together in Madrid? Well, we'll live together here in Paris instead but sometimes, you'll come and stay with Papá instead of Mamá. Because he's missed you very much.”

 

“I missed you, too,” Mati admits quietly, clutching Aramis' neck.

 

“Well, we'll change that,” Aramis decides, confident. He looks for Porthos who hasn't said a word, has let them have this moment together. Once he catches his eyes, it's to see him nod. For a few hours, Porthos is casting aside all his doubts, all his uncertainties and struggles to enjoy their time as a family. The family he never thought he would have. Odd, imperfect and yet who is starting to mean everything to him.

 

* * *

 

Saying goodbye that night isn't as hard as usual since it's Mati's birthday in two weeks and Aramis plans to travel down like he always does for the occasion. For once, he's lucky it'll be during a long weekend. But Porthos won't be able to come; he has to work. They don't tell the boy that, they don't want to say bye on a negative note.

 

“We need to change the top priority for our new appartment,” Porthos ponders after their guests have gone. Aramis cocks his head before launching himself at his boyfriend when he hears the explanation. “We absolutely need a second bedroom now.” Porthos receives endless kisses for that, there are arms around his neck, tight and loving. He unties Aramis' hair to bury his fingers in it.

 

“I love you, Porthos. I love you and you're the best and I don't know what I would do without you. But still. A bathtube would be nice.”

 

Porthos gives a hoarse laugh at this, his tongue shutting up Aramis as they tumble on the couch. He's flat on Aramis, crushing him and his boyfriend is loving it.

 

* * *

**May  
**

 

Life starts to slow down a little in May. There's a bank holiday almost every week, long weekends to be enjoyed. It's spring, gorgeous weather and only a few rainy days and the people on TV do begin to worry about heat waves and a drought. On the other hand, Aramis and Porthos' life speeds up a little. Anne's too. They're all busy looking for new appartments since Anne can actually start working in Paris whenever she wants. The sooner the better, according to the Parisian museum. After all, she hasn't had to quit her position in Madrid; it's a simple transfer.

 

She says so to Aramis when they celebrate Mati's birthday. It may well be the last one they spend just the three of them, but nobody is sad to see this part of their life becoming the past. Her parents weren't angry per se to see them move hundreds of miles away. Disappointed, for sure, but they received the same reaction from Aramis' parents. It meant they wouldn't be able to see their grandchild as often as they used to. They were thrilled for their son nonetheless.

 

Aramis has been glowing ever since the good news, which might be a side effect of the beautiful spring they are having. It also comes from helping Anne pack and arrange to put her furniture in storage and plan their big move. Mati starts to understand what it means as boxes appear. When he's told he'll see his father the next month, in only a few weeks and not a few months, he's over the moon.

 

Porthos relishes in seeing his boyfriend so ecstatic all the time, smiling, cuddling, snuggling, professing his never-ending (Porthos cherishes this particular thought) love and support. Aramis seems so thankful that Porthos has accepted the change so easily even though he's scared and unsure but _that's life_. He'll overcome it.

 

Finding a new place to live becomes rather urgent. Mati sleeping on the couch when he's visiting is absolutely out of the question, both men are quite adamant on that. So they broaden the _arrondissements_ in which they are house-hunting, decide that it's all right if it isn't as close to Porthos' gym as they would have liked it. Aramis also chooses to sell his old appartment after Anne will have found her own. He's offered her to stay there until then, which was the natural thing to do. She'll start working in July, when Paris empties from its actual inhabitants and the museum fills with tourists. You wouldn't believe how many people like the Middle-Ages.

 

Selling his dear appartment costs him a little, but it means more money for everything, more money for furniture and more money to even buy another place if it should ever come to that. That would be a far greater step forward in their relationship. One Porthos isn't so sure about. It's a gigantic commitment and he may not yet be ready for _that_ much.

 

Once upon a time, he would have simply mumbled that he wasn't sure, wouldn't have given Aramis a real answer and it would have led to conflict. Porthos would have retreated in his self-doubts and suffered in silence. But that was when nobody actually cared about what he thought or he wanted and in the past months, he's come to terms with the fact that Aramis isn't one of these persons. Aramis cares. Aramis listens.

 

It hurts to say it, hurts to see that Aramis may be affected by it, but they're moving forward and Porthos has to. Instead of silence and mutters, he states it loud and clear, voices his discomfort which doesn't diminish the love he has for Aramis. A love that keeps on growing and will have to stop at one point. Porthos doesn't want to think about that. Perhaps it won't?

 

Aramis pauses for a second in the discussion, considers what is being said and does acknowledge that maybe, buying a property together might be a bit rushed.

 

After all, in a single year, they've both found a partner after having given up on one. They've found love, they've moved in together, they've fought and made up (a lot). Porthos has accepted Aramis' past, is starting to be crazy about his son. They're making incredible projects together and they're sometimes so far ahead into their future that it makes Porthos' head spin. It's like his entire world has shifted on its axis (again) but this time for good. He hopes.

 

Moreover, money for rent isn't even an issue. Aramis is loaded. Who would have thought that minor sports and fruit trees could be so lucrative? Porthos despises his biological father, but he did give him a pretty large sum of money. Using it to pay for a formidable home is the best use he can imagine. It expands the possibilities, allows Aramis to reject any potential place that doesn't advertise a bathtube.

 

And also because it's been decided that Mati would go to a Spanish school in Paris and both appartments, his father's and his mother's, should be close to it. They don't want him to lose his roots, to lose his heritage because God knows how long it'll be before he moves back to Spain. Anne has resolved to revert to Spanish in her home, leaving the French to the men. Porthos nevertheless wants to continue improving his language skills and Mati will be just another great teacher, as far as he's concerned.

 

* * *

 

**June**

 

May passes in a blur for Aramis, and so does the first part of June. It'll be summer in a couple of days and the sky has cleared from the massive summer storm they've had lately. The way time moves quickly leads to him feeling drained and it's as if they've accomplished nothing.

 

“Except that we have done lots,” Porthos retorts one evening while they are taking a stroll along the Seine, going to meet some friends of his on the Quays for an _apéritif_. They carry wine and the weather is reflecting their state of mind. That in spite of how stressed they are, they love one another. They love cuddling, spending time together, getting all hot and cosy in bed. But that's for later tonight.

 

There are thin clouds scattered in the sky, the burning sun setting down behind them. There's no wind whatsoever, the air is hot from the cars and Aramis' arm around his waist is his everything.

 

“Do you know what it reminds me of?”

 

“Nope.” Aramis smacks his lips together at the word.

 

“Last year when we met.”

 

“God, it feels like a lifetime ago,” Aramis interrupts him and truly, it does. It's staggering how much happened, how natural everything is. Porthos nods and continues.

 

“It was all rushed back then and I was positive it wouldn't last, given how we met. It all happened at once, not in the right order but in a few weeks, I was head over heels with you. I couldn't imagine it had only been a month or two. You made me feel comfortable and like I belonged. Almost from the get-go.”

 

Aramis beams up at him, his giant boyfriend who is really soft underneath it all. And he thanks Heavens again they've put him on his path. They're going to do great things together. Aramis is sure of it.

 

“And here we are,” Porthos concludes. “And soon I'll be living with a child without even making one.”

 

It makes Aramis chuckle as he grips Porthos' hip tighter. Their walk becomes awkward and slower and yet they don't budge. Runners and cyclists have to go round them on the quay but the lovers don't care if they are being a disturbance.

 

Porthos sometimes (well always) worries about how he'll handle Mati on a regular basis. How he'll handle him in the mornings, having to make him ready for school, having to entertain him, talk and certainly scold and ground him. The boy is on the right path to become his father's son, how naughty and mischievous he can be.

 

He wonders how he'll handle school and having to cook and all around care for a five-year old child. Truth be told, most of these actions are also foreign to Aramis who, in spite of being a parent to Mati, has never had to deal with school days and has always had Anne with him whenever he saw his son.

 

They'll have time to worry about that once September comes and they'll power through it together. As a team. There's summer first, during which they'll be busy moving out and then in and finally putting the much anticipated bathtube to good use. More importantly, Aramis will enjoy his boyfriend's company as much as he can, with their small and ridiculous fights. As they already do.

 

It's so sweet, it hurts, Flea will proclaim when they meet with her a few minutes later. Some of Porthos' friends are back in town after months away. Aramis has never met them and he's always eager to be acquainted with people close to his boyfriend, people who mattered and helped him make it through the worst years of his life.

 

And then Flea will hug them both and tell Porthos that he's really lucky and that she loves him. But that's for later. For now, Aramis reflects on what Porthos just said.

 

“You get all the advantages of having a child without having to deal with an actual baby. How fortunate you are!” He flashes Porthos a bright smile, finds that nothing can get to him today.

 

The real estate agency has called in the afternoon to let them know they were approved for the appartment and they can move in by the beginning of July. _And_ , Anne and Mati are flying in at the end of the week.

 

So really, nothing can upset him, not even the old and obviously upper-class lady who scowls at them from behind her Chanel dress, her Dior purse and her Louboutin high heels. Aramis grins at her, too, wishes her a good evening, moves his hand to Porthos' ass simply to hear her gasp as they walk past.

 

Porthos doesn't mind it. At all. Especially as the fingers dip in his back pocket.

 

“You're in a good mood tonight.”

 

“I've been for a month,” Aramis replies.

 

“I've noticed.”

 

“I've been for _months_ , I think,” he realizes out loud, because even through their fights, everything has made them stronger. Closer. Porthos is a gem. “I believe we are going to have a wonderful life.”

 

“A cheesy one, more like.”

 

Porthos stops them, there on the cobblestones, under the bridge. And in the shade, he bends down to kiss Aramis sweetly. Until there's a lip tugging at his.

 

“Are you complaining?” Aramis breathes in the other's mouth. “Perhaps I should use my stern voice on you _again_ , to make you see my side of it?” _That_ gets Porthos to growl.

 

“I'm not complaining for a second. About any of it.”

 

And he truly wouldn't have imagined it. It's like he's a different person, capable of letting someone fill in and patch his life, letting him be a tease and not getting away of it. Porthos finally understands why Tréville has been so proud of him lately. Proud to see his son changing, adapting, becoming stronger.

 

With Aramis by his side, Porthos is certain he can accomplish anything, overcome anything. Cope with anything. Especially his stupendous boyfriend and his shameless, wandering hands.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *heart eyes* And they lived happily ever efter. Well, not quite, but close.
> 
> I had SO much fun writing about these two and all the people surrounding them and Mati is my favourite fictional child in the world and I'm blessed my muse thought of him. I may write some more one-shots about how they handle life as a family. 
> 
> I can already tell you there will be two PWP one-shots:  
> -one with the bathtube for Vera_dAuriac but she's the Queen of bathing Musketeers so I hope I won't disappoint  
> -one with Aramis using his stern voice on Porthos for CanadianGarrison (I couldn't fit it in this chapter but it'll be written)
> 
> Anyway, thanks to all of you who read and enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it!! You're the best!!


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